


What Remains

by Genuinelies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull (Background), Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras (Past), Fix-It, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Post-Trespasser, Rare Pairings, Skyhold Crew, Slow Build, Vinqy, fade escapades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genuinelies/pseuds/Genuinelies
Summary: “It might surprise you,” Dorian said at last, “But I do know how it feels.”“How what feels, Sparkler?” Varric sighed with resignation.“To have someone you trust do something that breaks your heart. To wonder if there was anything you could have done to stop catastrophe. To have your best friend die on you.”“Hawke’s not dead,” Varric said sharply. “And who said anything about anyone breaking my heart?”“Oh, so you don’t blame the Inquisitor for leaving Hawke in the Fade? That must have just been an unfortunate slip of your tongue.”#Summary: Varric ties up loose ends and cuts other threads. Max tries to tidy up what remains. Guilt and regret hide in the corners of Skyhold, along with unspoken hope.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke, Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras/Male Trevelyan, Varric Tethras/Trevelyan
Comments: 108
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is such a tiny ship, and yet I am dedicated to it. It's a little like screaming to the wind, but hopefully some of you will enjoy this!
> 
> I've taken some liberties with how rifts and the anchor work.

“Hey, got a minute?”

Max looked behind him to see Varric Tethras watching him expectantly from his usual post beside Solas’s old quarters. His stomach sank even as he turned, putting on a friendly smile; the friendliness, at least, was genuine.

_No news yet,_ he rehearsed in his head. _I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. Excuse me, I have something I need to do._

The same thing he’d been repeating since he’d returned from the Fade, without Hawke.

“Of course, Varric,” he said. “What is it?”

Varric shuffled his feet. “There may be a…slight problem that I think you should be aware of. All right. It’s not slight.”

Max hated, _hated_, the wary, respectful tone to Varric’s voice. It harkened back to the earlier days of the Inquisition, when Varric was still telling him that he scared the shit out of him in so many words. Despite that, Max knew he couldn’t complain; he was lucky Varric was addressing him at all. He was lucky Varric had remained with the Inquisition, for that matter. He was surprised that he had.

“Well, fixing problems is usually what people need me for. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“It’s not that.” Varric was frowning at him. It seemed hard for him to meet Max’s eyes. He sighed heavily. “Bianca’s sending assassins after you.”

“After _me_?” Max was incredulous. “How do you know that?”

“My people already intercepted one. They didn’t say anything important before dying a horrible, self-inflicted death, for the record, but her house is easily recognizable.”

“We could have questioned them alive.”

It wasn’t even the assassins that were bothering him, Max realized; it was that it was that bloody woman.

“I did say self-inflicted, Inquisitor. At any rate, you should be on your guard. I’m trying to take care of it. You get Inquisition forces involved, though, and you’ll be stepping on a lot of dwarven toes.”

“So…I’m just going to have another target on my back. Can I ask _why?”_

Now Varric really wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“I did something that pissed her off, and now she’s blaming you. I’m sorry. I’d offer to leave, except I honestly think you’re safer with me here.”

Max’s eyebrows shot up. “Varric, you’ve risked your life many times over for both me and the Inquisition itself. Why would leaving even be in the equation?”

“I’ve just brought my personal bullshit to your doorstep, and I never wanted that, Inquisitor.”

Max searched Varric’s face with a frown. “Leaving would be adding insult to injury, Varric.”

“All right.” Varric was somber. It didn’t suit him.

“Can I ask _how_ you pissed her off enough to send assassins after me?”

“This isn’t fair, but I’m not quite ready to talk about it.”

A muscle in Max’s jaw jumped.

“It won’t help the situation for you to know.”

“You’re right, that isn’t fair. Varric-”

Varric scowled. “Consider this my one free pass for Hawke.”

Max reeled as if slapped. He felt his expression bleed from his features.

“Shit! I’m sorry. Inquisitor, I’m sorry. That wasn’t…you don’t owe me anything.” Varric’s expression was pleading, but Max heard ringing in his ears.

_Really fucked everything up._ He should have stayed, not Hawke. Maybe, with the Anchor, he could have beat that monstrous fear demon, and everyone could have lived. What chance did one man, even the Champion of Kirkwall, have to win against something like that without something like the mark?

“You didn’t _do_ anything,” Varric was continuing, his voice rushed. “I just…I really can’t talk about this, all right? Not yet. I’m no good at it.” Varric took a half-step toward Max, reaching out as though he were going to touch his arm.

Max stepped back.

“If you need me to make that up to you with this, fine,” Max heard himself saying. “It’s your one free pass. If it’s that important to you, you’re right. Assassins are after me, it doesn’t matter why.”

“Inquisitor. I’m a dick. I’m sorry. Please don’t-”

“I’ll keep my eyes out,” Max said. “Thank you for the warning.”

Varric’s _‘Shit!’_ echoed after him as Max continued out of the main hall and down the steps.

#

“Writer’s block, or have you just come to admire the clientele?”

“Hey, Sparkler,” Varric said, managing not to slur his words by a hairsbreadth. “Run out of wine in the library?”

“You do know me so well.” Dorian Pavus twitched his moustache as he gave Varric a small, sideways smile. “These tables are _sticky_, Varric. I thought you normally had better sense than this.”

“Maker,” Varric laughed. “You would have a heart attack if you saw my old place at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. This? This is as clean as spring water.”

“After somebody’s spit in it.”

“But it’s not piss that somebody’s spit in,” Varric countered.

“Charming.”

“I thought you usually made Tiny get your alcohol for you instead of getting your buckles dirty mingling with us little people. Literally, in my case.”

“You may be small in stature,” Dorian drawled, “But not in girth, my muscular dwarven friend.” His eyes trailed lewdly southward over Varric for a moment, making Varric choke out a laugh. “Besides, Bull has abandoned me. He went with the Inquisitor to track down a lead in the Hissing Wastes. Imagine my disappointment when he took Madame de Fer in my place.”

“What’d she do to piss him off?” Varric’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m actually not entirely sure it’s not a form of self-flagellation on his own behalf.”

They both fell into meaningful silence for a long, uncomfortable moment, Dorian searching his eyes as though looking for confirmation of a question he hadn’t asked.

“Are you well, Varric?” Dorian frowned at him.

“Just peachy.”

“Hm. So that comment about the Champion to our Inquisitor the other day was just for shits and giggles, then.”

“What?” Varric asked flatly.

“You do know the Inquisitor barely leaves that cavernous room of his as it is these days? If you’re doing fine, than that comment of yours was completely uncalled for.”

“A little birdie tell you that?” Varric took a vicious swig of his brandy.

“The door was open and sound carries. It’s open to the roof, Varric, don’t you look up?”

“Yeah, well, I said I was sorry, Sparkler.”

Dorian’s lips were thin.

Varric slumped.

“Look, I can’t take it back. I was having a bad day. It doesn’t make it right, but I can’t apologize properly until he gets back from the ass-end of Thedas. Either have a seat or fuck off. I’m wallowing and you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

For a moment, Varric thought he’d successfully managed to chase Dorian off, but eventually the mage slid into the chair beside him, swirling the wine in his glass absently.

“It might surprise you,” Dorian said at last, “But I do know how it feels.”

“How what feels, Sparkler?” Varric sighed with resignation.

“To have someone you trust do something that breaks your heart. To wonder if there was anything you could have done to stop catastrophe. To have your best friend die on you.”

“Hawke’s not dead,” Varric said sharply. “And who said anything about anyone breaking my heart?”

“Oh, so you don’t blame the Inquisitor for leaving Hawke in the Fade? That must have just been an unfortunate slip of your tongue.”

Varric scrubbed at his face, his heart pounding. For a moment, he’d thought Dorian had been talking about Bianca – either her betrayal over the red lyrium or the assassins, take your pick. But how could he have known?

“I should never have brought Hawke into this,” Varric grated out. “I don’t blame him. I blame myself.”

“Ah, self-recrimination and unhealthy amounts of guilt. Another personal favorite of mine. From what I heard, the Champion argued his way into an early death – no, don’t chop my balls off, sorry, my mistake. Argued his way into his own fate, shall we say. You’re right. Miracles happen, even with more likelihood when the Inquisitor’s involved.”

“What was that you said about him holing himself up in his room?” Varric asked, praying Dorian would allow the subject change.

“You truly haven’t noticed?” Dorian looked faintly shocked.

“Been a little self-involved lately.”

That coaxed a laugh from Dorian. “You don’t say. Yes, then. He has. Since the whole-” He wagged the fingers of his left hand. “And a while before that. Since Adamant, I’d say.”

“Why are you telling me this? Other than to really drive that guilt right home. I told you, I already intend to apologize. I feel terrible about it. It wasn’t his fault and I shouldn’t have said it.”

Dorian gave him a stare that made Varric feel like he’d missed something druffalo-sized. He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically awkward for a moment. Varric eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ve always been good at getting our aloof friend to loosen up,” Dorian said at last, leaving Varric with the impression that he’d changed what he’d been about to say. “Try talking with him for the rest of us when he gets back, will you? He’ll lose his lovely tan if he stays cooped up much longer.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that,” Varric said dryly.

“Be sure to say it lasciviously enough.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“As for you, what do you say at trouncing me at a couple hands of Wicked Grace? Staring at me as I strip will brighten anyone’s funk.”

“Watching you undo all those buckles when you lose gives me anxiety, Sparkler.”

“Then you’ll just have to let me win, won’t you?”

#

“Hey, big pants, one arm in’nt nearly enough, burn off the other one, what? Sure, swing your sword with your teeth then, right? No, that won’t work.”

“I’m not trying, Sera.” Max gritted his teeth, trying not to scream in pain as sure enough, he was on fire. He sighed in relief when Vivienne quelled the flames with a cold spell.

“You’re more distracted, even for you, darling,” Vivienne said. “Your hanger-on has a point.”

“Hey, look here, Madame de Farts, you-” Sera moved out of his vision as she drew her bow and leapt.

“Demons, please,” Max snapped. “Fight with each other later.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra griped. “Why did you bring _this_ group, of all of us? This is not an ideal team, Inquisitor. There are others we work better with.”

“You’re all members of the Inquisition,” Max huffed out pointedly, dodging a blast from a fear demon. “We’re on the same side. Focus, or Sera will be right about this thing burning off my arm. Kill it, now.”

Max eyed the rift behind the rage demon dogging him.

He _felt_ it. It was a tugging along his skin, a pull like threads in his nerves being tightened. The anchor had been a part of him for years. Of course it hadn’t stayed contained to the arm Solas had taken; it had _changed _him.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra cried.

Max got his prosthetic shield attachment up just in time to block the demon’s last desperate attack, swinging his sword through the creature, heavy and sure. It exploded with a wail that left his ears ringing.

The rift was mere feet away from him, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“That’s the last of them,” Cassandra said. “But they will return. Our soldiers will keep an eye on the area until the mages come to contain the rift.”

“Get away from that thing, dear. Green makes you look ghastly.” Vivienne was frowning at Max, but he saw the worry in her gaze.

Cassandra was right, of course; as a team they were atrociously matched. Their bickering was why they were down to two healing potions and Max was still bleeding from a cut above his eye. Sera was looking wan – too wan, Max tossed her one of the potions.

Aside from Cassandra, however, they were the companions who paid the least attention to Max, and he needed that.

“Vivienne is right. Let us go give our report, Inquisitor, and head back to Skyhold.” Cassandra was also frowning worriedly at him.

Max wet his lips.

“Thank you,” he said carefully.

“Wait, why does fancy-pants look like he’s going to vomit up his feelings like, big speech coming, but just killed some demons, no biggie, let’s go, right?” Sera joined the rest of them in frowning at him.

“I have unfinished business,” Max said. “And I can’t ask you to come. Cassandra, in front of these witnesses, I name you successor to the Inquisition, in…the worst case.”

“Inquisitor, what-_no!”_

Cassandra’s scream echoed after him as Max jumped into the rift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Skyhold Crew have a good chat and a good panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! I'm planning to update once a week. <3

Max pulled at the invisible threads attached to his skin, the indelible remnants of the mark, and the rift collapsed shut behind him.

“Shit, fuck, arse-biscuits!”

The disembodied voice of Sera chased Max, echoing around the air of the Fade until he was truly alone.

Terror clawed at him, then ebbed as he got his bearings.

He was not the first to find himself isolated in the Fade. He at least had made a choice and known the consequences.

“Garrett Hawke,” he murmured. “Where are you?”

In the eerie, nebulous light, Max started walking, his heels crunching on what both was and was not stone.

#

“He _what_?!”

Varric blanched, his voice hitting a high note and cracking. He was gathered with the rest of the Inquisitor’s inner circle and advisors around Skyhold’s war table; an impromptu meeting that had been called the second the mission team had returned from the Hissing Wastes without Maxwell Trevelyan in tow.

“He just – jumped into it! With no warning! How were we to know?” Cassandra sounded despairing.

“Well, shit, that explains it,” Bull said evenly. “Thought that was a weird team he took with him.”

“Want to share with the class?” Varric asked tersely.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dorian snapped. “He took the three most oblivious people he could possibly take with him. No offense.”

Sera blew an angry raspberry, but Vivienne had the grace to look uncomfortable, for once in her privileged life.

“No…you are right,” Cassandra sounded broken. “We were distracted by our bickering. While I know he cares for us, we do not…know him as the rest of you do. We are not his best friends, as it were.”

Varric could have kissed her for not using the past tense when it came to Max.

“Bloody stinking arse-tits,” Sera volunteered sullenly. “We have cookies and shit.”

“You don’t do feelings with those cookies though, do you?” Dorian said acidly.

“It is an unfortunate loss for the Inquisitor,” Vivienne sighed. “But no, I do not spend my time licking at his boots the way the rest of you do.”

“Hey, be nice,” Bull warned. “That’s just your guilt talking.”

“We must get him back, of course,” Leliana interjected before Vivienne could hurl something back at Bull. “But how? None of us would survive in the Fade without him. The mages, perhaps, but for how long?”

“We must try,” Dorian snapped.

“I’m with Sparkler,” Varric said quickly. “How many times has he saved each of us from our own harebrained bullshit? We owe it to him to try.”

“It’s not about owing him anything,” Cullen snapped. “Max is our friend. And we should be ashamed of ourselves if we haven’t impressed that on him enough.” He rubbed at his face, then leaned heavily on the war table.

“He has been more…withdrawn, since losing his arm,” Josephine hedged. “I had not thought much of it. He never said anything.”

Varric felt guilt choking him.

“Since Solas left, you mean,” Cassandra said. “Since one of our closest friends betrayed us with the intention of sentencing us to death.”

“It looks like you’re hurting, Varric,” Cole said, putting his warm hand on Varric’s arm. “But I can’t tell why. I want to help. It’s worse for you than them, but I don’t know why.”

“It’s nothing, kid,” Varric said. “But thanks.”

_I pushed him toward this,_ Varric thought. _I brought up Hawke right before he left._

It was his fault. They’d lost one of the two best men that Varric had ever known, and he’d already lost the other.

“I want to help,” Cole said, sounding lost.

“Give me a hug, then, kid.”

Cole obliged, awkwardly. Varric patted him on the back, equally as awkwardly, until Cole let go, looking at least a little mollified. He hated to admit it, but it might have helped a little.

“So, let’s et him back, yeah? Send the mages in or some shit before he gets all-” Sera made a twisted expression with her tongue hanging out.

“I don’t like it,” Dorian said, “But what choice do we have? We can’t leave him alone.”

“We don’t know that that…thing you left Hawke to fight is dead,” Bull said, his voice like an anvil. “either the boss is gonna pull off another miracle, or he’s just committed suicide. We have to accept that. Getting ourselves killed won’t help.”

“Bull’s right,” Cassandra said. “Entering the Fade is madness. We should not throw our lives away in our grief.”

“Don’t talk like he’s dead!” Varric snapped.

Cullen sighed heavily. “It will take scouts to find another rift. That will take time. And even if we do manage that, and our mages – our _friends –_ manage to survive entering it, the chance you’ll end up anywhere near where the Inquisitor is –”

“I hate to admit it,” Leliana said softly, her face heartbroken, “But you’re right.”

“Dammit, why do this-!” Cullen hit the table, scattering marker pieces across the surface.

“To get Hawke back,” Varric spoke up tiredly, leaning against the wall, one foot propped up. “It’s been eating at him. And I said something right before he left to make it worse.”

Varric couldn’t meet their eyes.

“Varric.” Cassandra’s voice was horrified enough that Varric looked up. Everyone else was looking at him in varying shades of disbelief and shock.

Varric turned, and left, before everyone began shouting or he had a breakdown, whichever came first.

#

“Hey. Varric. Open up.”

Bull’s voice was muffled on the other side of Varric’s door. It was followed by a heavy knock.

Varric groaned.

“Not interested. Go away.”

He kept his head nestled on his arms, pillowed on the table. He plead with the Maker for Bull to listen and leave.

“Not happening,” Bull said flatly. “Either I make a scene, or you open up. Your choice.”

Varric cursed and stomped over to the door, swinging it wide.

“What?” He snarled. “I know it’s my fault, okay? Come to rub it in? It won’t bring him back.”

“Hey.” Bull shouldered his way inside, making Varric step back, otherwise he’d have gotten a face-full of Bull’s crotch. Once they were both in the room, Bull pulled the door shut. “None of us blame you. I mean, all right. There was a little yelling after you left. But we’ve calmed down now. I want to know how you’re doing.”

“Just great,” Varric said. “Can you go now?” He crossed his arms and stared Bull down, though it made his head tilt way back.

“Not until you talk to me. We can do this with alcohol, or without. Let’s sit.”

Varric despairingly got his brandy and threw himself into the armchair by the fire.

“So what’s going on?” Bull poured himself a generous glass and settled into the other chair, graceful despite his bulk.

“I guilted the Inquisitor over Hawke, all right?” Varric admitted. “He was pushing at something I didn’t want pushed at, and lashed out. I’m not proud of it.” He paused, then added quietly, “I didn’t even get the chance to apologize. Not properly.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Bull prompted.

“Isn’t there always?” Varric frowned. “It was just a little snippy offhand comment. I never thought it would make him…”

“It wouldn’t,” Bull said. “Not unless he was already thinking it. Not unless he was already planning it.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he was losing his balance and I gave him a push instead of steadying him.”

“Then that’s on all of us.” Bull took a swig of the brandy and made a face. “Bah. That stuff is weak.”

“I’m sure you can find plenty of choices in the tavern.”

“It will take more than bad alcohol to chase me away,” Bull stated, amusement curling his lip.

“Is there anything that would chase you away?” Varric was genuinely curious.

“Nah.”

Varric drank his own glass of brandy in response.

“So. What’s this really about?” Bull tilted his head.

“Still not ready to talk about it.”

“It have anything to do with those second-rate Dwarven assassins after our boss?”

“You know about those?” Varric cursed himself for confirming Bull’s guess. “Dammit, Bull. It’s personal, okay?”

“They came from that dwarven bitch,” Bull said pointedly. “The one with the red lyrium.”

“Call her that again, and I swear-” Varric was halfway out of his chair with his hand reaching for his crossbow before he realized what he was doing. His face twisted in realization. “Shit.”

He got up and began pacing. A muscle jumped in his jaw, fingers flexing. So maybe Bianca _was_ a bitch. Maybe he’d thrown years and years away on a traitorous snake. Maybe she was selfish and callous and he’d just been too damned devoted to notice.

Pressure was tightening his chest, a burn growing behind his eyes.

_Was he going to lose everyone?_

“Hey, whoa. Varric. Breathe.”

Varric kicked viciously at a side table in response, knocking it over and sending papers flying and glass shattering.

“Hey!”

Bull was out of his seat, pressing him back down into his own chair with heavy hands. “_Breathe._”

Bull knelt in front of him, forcing Varric to meet his eyes.

“Bianca,” Varric said at last, giving up on avoiding Bull’s steady, knowing, patient gaze. “Her name is Bianca Davri. And boy, for someone so good at backstabbing, she sure doesn’t like being crossed.”

“So how did Boss get on her bad side?”

“Not the Inquisitor. Me. I got on her bad side, and she blames him.” Varric paused, the truth of it caught in his throat. “We’ve had an ongoing affair for ages. Love of my life, I thought. Then she went and got caught up with that damned red lyrium, and I couldn’t…I can’t. Not anymore.”

“You broke it off. So why isn’t she sending assassins after you?”

“She wants me to come to my senses. Which means, she wants me back, lapping crumbs out of her fists.”

“And how does she think you’ll do that?”

Varric swallowed.

“Ah. Shit.” Bull sat back on his heels.

_Well, look at that._ He’d actually managed to surprise The Iron Bull. Varric considered that should mean he got a medal.

“Boss doesn’t know, does he?”

Varric grimaced.

“You should tell him.”

“Little hard, with him in the Fade. Bianca’s not the only one with connections, Bull. Leave it alone.”

“Hey. I’m not worried about any assassins.” Bull’s voice turned hard. “And I’m on your side. You don’t have to threaten me. So. This Bianca, she wants to take out her competition. Problem is, Boss doesn’t know he _is_ the competition. He asked why your ex-lover was sending assassins after him. You panicked, and pushed him away. I get that right?”

“Yeah,” Varric muttered. “You got that right, good job. Now instead of wanting to kill myself from the guilt, I now also want to kill myself from mortification.”

“You sly dog,” Bull drawled. “Didn’t know you swung that way.”

“Men?”

“Humans.”

“Max is special.”

Varric winced at himself.

Bull’s lips twitched.

“’Max’, huh?”

“Shit.” Varric covered his face with his hand.

“Varric. Hey. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Take care of yourself, all right? We’ll get him back.”

“Sure.”

_But that still leaves Hawke._

Bull clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’ll be here. If you want to talk about it.”

Bull nodded at him, then let himself out.

Varric got up, and put himself to work cleaning up the mess he’d made of his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisitor and Varric have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for following along! 
> 
> Small bonus chapter this week. 
> 
> There's a hint of demonic non-con in this, along with a shift toward the rating I've given this fic.

“Inquisitor! Thank the Maker!”

Max had blood in his eyes as he blinked slowly awake. He groaned as consciousness returned fully.

“Varric? What happened?”

Varric was hovering over him, worry creasing his forehead.

Max suddenly remembered; he’d fallen off of a cliff, misjudging the distance as he plowed through a cluster of wisps. It turns out that even if the rocks floated in the Fade, humans still very much did not.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “I can’t believe I lived through that.”

“Oh, come on now, Inquisitor,” Varric scoffed, but his tone was still strained. “You’ve fallen off buildings much higher than that little rock. Do yourself some credit.”

Varric knelt beside him, his eyes roaming over him, obviously cataloging injuries. Around them, tall grasses waved in a breeze Max couldn’t feel.

“Think you can walk?” Varric asked. “We should get to safety.”

“How…where are we? I…was in the Fade.”

“And now you’re not,” Varric chuckled. “Looks like you still have some juice left in you. You fell through a rift, Inquisitor, and then you…did something that closed it before passing out. Thought the weirdness might have gone away with the hand. Guess not.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Our camp isn’t far from here. Seeker, Sparkler, and Tiny all came with me to look for you. Think we’ll have to make due in a cave tonight, though, just you and me. We split up and I might have gotten carried away.”

“You split up?” Max frowned at him in horror. “You could have been seriously hurt out here! What if Red Templars, bears, wyverns had found you?”

“Now, now, don’t get worked up.” Varric put his hand on Max’s shoulder. It was a comforting, welcome weight. “Now, my question. Can you get up?”

“Yes. I think so.” Max pushed himself upright, gave himself a minute to adjust, then made it to his feet. Varric steadied him with a hand on his elbow.

“There you go. Easy does it. Let’s get going before those beasties you mentioned start prowling toward us.”

“Right.” Max felt his knees crack in protest, and swiped blood out of his eyes. He squinted. In the distance he saw the cave Varric was talking about.

“We’re in the Hissing Wastes,” Varric helpfully supplied.

“I can see that,” Max said with resignation. “I love sand in my nether regions. Really wakes a man up.”

Varric clapped him on the back with a chuckle.

It didn’t take them as long as Max had been afraid it would for them to reach the cave. They’d gathered wood along the way for kindling, and Varric made them a fire while Max cleared out the few giant spiders inhabiting their new living space. He settled gingerly with his back against the wall when he was done, and Varric cozied in beside him, closer than Max would have expected, their arms and legs touching.

It both was and wasn’t strange.

They watched the fire in companionable silence for several heartbeats. It was odd, in fact, how silent everything was. The quiet seemed to permeate their little safe haven, deep and peaceful. As always when he was with Varric alone and they weren’t griping at one another, Max felt safe and content. He had always been able to simply be with Varric without the need to fill the air with words.

“Copper for your thoughts, Inquisitor,” Varric said, looking up at him.

“I’m not in want for money, Varric,” Max rebuffed tiredly.

For a moment, Varric looked hurt.

Max winced.

“I’m sorry. I just…I’d rather not share my thoughts at this moment.”

Varric held up his hands. “Could have just said. Didn’t need to be rude about it.”

“Sorry.”

“So.” Varric cleared his throat and shifted beside him. “How about I give you some of my thoughts for free.”

“I don’t want to be yelled at for jumping into a rift, Varric. I thought it was necessary. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to bring Hawke home for you. I just wasted time.”

“It’s not about that.” Varric waved his hand dismissively. “Hawke made his choice.”

“All right, then. What’s on your mind?”

Max knew they would have to talk about all of it sooner or later, but he was grateful Varric was willing to stall.

The fire flickered, the wind whistling past the mouth of the cave. Max gave a small shiver.

“I…had some time to think, while you were gone.” The firelight flickered across Varric’s broad, handsome features. “The guilt’s been eating me up inside, Max, over what I said.”

Max met Varric’s eyes, shocked. “Did you just call me…?”

“Yeah. That okay? Out of all of that, that’s what you focus on?”

Max cleared his throat, embarrassed by the way his pulse was pounded. “Go on. Yes, it’s okay.”

“Good.” Varric smiled, but his eyes were serious.

“So, I was thinking about a lot of things. One of them was how much it was eating me up, what I said to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Max. I thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”

“I’m…going to need some clarification.” Max swallowed thickly.

“I care about you. Shit, I’m bad with this.” Varric put his hand on Max’s thigh and squeezed. “I thought you were gone, and I couldn’t live with that. I recovered from Hawke. I don’t think I’d recover if you…if you never made it back to me.”

“Varric…” Max sucked in a sharp breath.

_How long had he wanted Varric to say that to him?_ Maybe not verbatim, but close enough.

“I care about you a lot, Max.”

“Varric…” Max felt like the words were stuck in his throat.

Suddenly, Varric was straddling his lap, rocking eagerly. Max gave a surprised, pleasured cry. Varric pressed their groins close, and Max groaned loudly, his hand flying to Varric’s waist. 

“Varric…Varric. Wait. Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, talk about this a-”

“You almost died!” Varric growled. “You went to the Fade! Just like Hawke! What were you _thinking?_ Just give me this. There’ll be time later to talk about it. Let me just convince myself you’re alive.”

“You’re doing a good job convincing me I’m alive,” Max gasped. He bucked up until they found a mutual, hard pace and began rocking together. His fingers tightened on the cloth of his jacket, holding on as arousal shot through him in a hot wave that lit up his nerves.

Varric's gaze was intent on his, a flush staining his broad, ruddy cheeks.

“Tell me that I get to have you, Max. Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ll give yourself to me.”

Max went still, his breath catching and his eyes widening slowly. His heels dug into the ground as he tried to shift free of the relentless grinding of their hips. It was still pleasurable, despite his growing dismay.

“You’re…”

His blood turned to ice.

“You’re not Varric.”

Horror shot through him like lightning.

_He was still in the Fade._

“Sh. I can be, for you. I can be anything you want. I can ensure you’re happy and blissful to the end of your days. Just let me have you. Let me in.” 

“Get off of me, demon!” Max spat.

There was a hissing sound that scraped at his ears, and then vertigo overtook him as the world shifted, the fantasy falling away to reveal the sickly green light of the Fade.

Bitter disappointment constricted Max’s throat. It was a struggle to throw the demon off, and nearly impossible to fight it when it wore Varric’s face.

When the demon was dead, Max propped himself against what passed for rocks, a gash in his arm and his breath ragged.

The Fade, however, was never empty for long.

“He will never want you,” a new voice said quietly. “Foolish boy. One-armed, a human, a man? And he hates you. You left his best friend to die. You should have taken desire’s offer. They have no use for you at Skyhold.. You will die, alone and fallen and eventually forgotten.”

Max sighed. He pushed off the rock, then turned to face the despair demons crowding closer.

“I think you’re the ones who are lonely, and you’re about to be dead regardless.”

With a cry, Max charged.

_Hawke. Where are you?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone familiar shows up and does not go all glowy on Varric, despite expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there, slowly but surely!
> 
> Thanks for reading along!

“Dwarf.”

“Gonna have to be more specific, there’s several of us dwarves arou-holy _shit,_ Broody?”

Varric jumped up from his chair, and like a coward made sure the table was solidly between him and the very familiar, very tattooed, white-haired form of Fenris.

_Fenris._ Who was somehow in _Skyhold._ After a couple years of not seeing him, after nights spent wondering when the other shoe would drop after Hawke’s disappearance in the Fade.

Of course. It bloody well figured he’d show up just then, when Varric’s life was already falling to pieces.

“Varric.” Fenris looked and sounded amused, his lips quirking faintly beneath his arched nose. Varric wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign when it came to his continued existence.

“Andraste’s tits!” Varric tried to keep his voice upbeat. “I didn’t think you’d actually come all the way out here to Skyhold. Last I heard from you, you were in Tevinter, fighting slavers.”

“If I had appeared here two years ago, dwarf, your fear might have been warranted.”

“Fear? Me? What fear?” _Maker’s breath, did the man smell it on him like a dog?_

“Relax. I do not tear out the hearts of my friends.”

“Oh, good, we’re still friends,” Varric drawled, a hint of panic keeping his heartbeat up. “I wasn’t sure. Considering it’s been a while.”

Fenris nodded, his green eyes flicking around the hallway.

“I was enraged at first. I am sorry that we lost contact. I thought it best I stayed away.”

“For my sake, I’m assuming,” Varric stated wryly. “Because you were angry.”

“Yes.”

“How could you not blame me? I blame me.”

“Is there somewhere we might catch up more…privately?” Fenris glanced uncomfortably around the great hall.

“No glowing fists, right?”

Fenris smirked. “No _intentions_ of glowing fists.”

“Wonderful. Makes me feel so much better,” Varric sighed. “All right, follow me. My room’s this way.”

Fenris fell quickly into step beside him once Varric had cleaned up his papers and started making his way out of the hall. He kept glancing up at Fenris’s aristocratic profile; it was strange to see him out of the context of Kirkwall, and yet Varric was unspeakably glad to see the face of an old friend. Fenris, for his part, glanced right back at him, his expression unreadable.

“Welp. Here we are.”

Varric let them into his room and spread his arms before setting his writing supplies down on the small desk by his bed. “My humble abode.”

“Indeed. Small and yet it does not smell like piss and dead rats. An upgrade from Kirkwall.”

“All part of the Hanged Man’s unique atmosphere, Broody. Though someone who thought it acceptable to live with dead bodies and mushrooms in their foyer really shouldn’t be talking. You want a drink? Food? Should have asked that on the way over here.”

“Perhaps later.”

“Then go ahead and have a seat if you like.”

Varric settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fire, and poured himself a generous cup of brandy.

_Boy, this conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant._

Fenris sat in the other chair across from him and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, peering at Varric unsettlingly, as though he could see into his soul.

“So.” Varric cleared his throat. “Been well?”

He kicked himself as Fenris’s expression flickered, his features exposing a momentarily raw sadness that Varric knew all too well.

“I do not blame you,” Fenris said, then nodded so that the shocks of his white hair bobbed. It seemed as though more should be coming on the other side of a _‘but’_, but Fenris looked satisfied with himself.

“Of course you do,” Varric argued.

“I came here to say that,” Fenris elaborated. “It has been long enough. Hawke…” His voice dipped. “Hawke considered you his best friend.”

“And I dragged him into this.” Varric scrubbed his hand over his face. “He would have been safe if not for me.”

“Garrett made his own choices.”

Varric blinked at Fenris, taken aback. He couldn’t help the flare of jealousy. _He_ had been Hawke’s best friend, but he’d rarely used the man’s first name with as much ease as Fenris just had. He remembered suddenly Max’s teasing insistence that Varric find him a nickname like he did for everyone else, and his chest twisted. He rubbed at it.

_Why couldn’t he just let people in? Why couldn’t he let people know when they mattered?_

“I called Hawke out of hiding, Broody. He could have stayed away, but I just had to interfere. I know you two had to have been happy somewhere before I butted in. I know his reasons, but he’s like a loyal dog sometimes. It was my job to protect him, and instead I let his overblown sense of responsibility call him to heel.”

_And I just did the same thing to Max,_ Varric thought with a flash of grief. When was he going to wake up and realize that his friends actually listened to him? He never expected his words to hold as much weight as they inevitably did.

“He would have been furious with you had you not told him about the Wardens or Corypheus.”

“Better than dead!” Varric raised a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I can’t take this out on you. It’s nice of you to try and make me feel better instead of going all glowy inside my chest. I’m glad you and I are still friends, Broody.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Was that ever in question?”

“I don’t know. I’ve fucked up a lot lately. We’ve had a few…friends….personally betray us or otherwise lie to us lately, me in particular. It hasn’t been easy to count myself among them. Hawke is dead because of me.”

Again, that fragile expression on Fenris’ face. Varric’s own features crumpled, and he dropped his eyes.

“He may just be lost,” Fenris said quietly. “He has come back from many things.”

“It’s been two years.”

Fenris managed to look even _more_ heartbroken. Varric drained his brandy, mentally kicking himself.

“Anyway.” Varric cleared his throat. “You have some impeccable timing. The Inquisitor himself has just jumped right back into the Fade to look for Hawke.”

Shock chased the grief from Fenris’ expression. “That’s madness!”

“He’s kind of a weird guy.” Varric sighed heavily, and refilled his glass, unable to meet Fenris’s eyes.

“Do you think he will be successful?”

The hope, Varric reflected, was harder to hear than the sadness.

“If Hawke has any fighting chance, it lies with Max.”

“Max?” Fenris furrowed his brow.

“Shit.” Varric scrunched his eyes shut. “The Inquisitor.”

Fenris seemed perplexed. “I…see.” His expression was wary.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up. You should do the same. I’ve been telling the Inquisitor from the beginning to get out of this business. High fatality rate for heroes.”

Fenris frowned at him, searching his face thoroughly. “How is he able to survive in the Fade? I have heard he lost the glowing mark of power.”

“I don’t know, Broody, but we all survived in the Fade. Even me. Not just him. Damn, this brandy’s almost out. Feel like a change of scenery? Max got us a good collection of wines in the tavern.”

“Perhaps momentarily. You will need food.”

“That soaks up the alcohol,” Varric joked.

“That is the point, dwarf.” Fenris gave him a grim smirk. “I came here to…reassure you, and to see the Inquisition for myself. This is the last place Hawke called a home, however temporarily. I was not expecting him to be in the thoughts of anyone else, let alone the Inquisitor himself.”

“That’s how he won over the country, Broody. He’s a kind man. He takes losses hard. Can be a little too loyal to his friends and can also be a little too much of a people pleaser. I suspect his mother’s probably a narcissist, the way he can’t quite ever believe he’s accomplished anything. Or that we’re actually his friends, for that matter. If Hawke’s a giant mabari who makes instant friends with everyone by sniffing their crotches, Max is a cat. You have to crack that aloof mask of his to get to the lovable dork beneath. Maker’s breath, Fenris. You should hear all the hand puns he keeps chucking out since his arm got halved. They’re atrocious.”

“Hawke’s sense of humor is intolerable enough,” Fenris said dryly, but his face was contemplative. “You truly care for the Inquisitor as a man.”

“As a friend. Yeah, Broody.” Varric scrubbed at his face.

“I…see.” Fenris slapped his legs. “I have changed my mind. Let’s see if the tavern here is an improvement on your usual choice of establishment, or if it is also a cesspit.”

“It hurts, Broody. It hurts right here.” Varric tapped his chest with a laugh. “All right, let’s go.”

Varric paused, a cold chill of foreboding trickling down his spine.

“Uh…I’ve told you about Sparkler, right?”

#

“Admit it. You came in here because you’re _tired_, Inquisitor, and _over._ You had your rise to power. Now here is your fall. It is easier to throw your life away under the guise of heroism than to admit that you simply have no purpose anymore, is it not? Your power came from the mark. Now you’re just a little soldier from the Free Marches playing dress-up with the adults as they march you around.”

“Are you a _guilt_ demon or a _fear_ demon?” Max asked wearily. “Because you’re giving my mother a run for her money.”

Max glanced over his shoulder. It was unnerving; this demon had shown itself to him as Garrett Hawke. After a few rounds of picking at the obvious insecurities, it had moved on to more nuanced topics, and was doing a pretty good job of it at that.

“You’ll die here,” the demon said in Hawke’s voice. “Alone. Forgotten. Unfulfilled. A failure. You didn’t save the world, you only postponed its demise, and sacrificed good people to do it. What a waste.”

He had, Max considered, made a grave tactical error in coming to the Fade alone.

_Probably why those first few Pride demons were so bloody hard to kill._

His steps flagged. The demon had been dogging his heels like a circling wyvern, waiting for him to bleed out instead of attacking him directly. The demon had chosen its form well; Max knew he should kill it and be done with it, but after killing the one who looked like Varric he didn’t quite have it in him, and besides, he was extremely _lonely._ It was a sad mental state that made him tolerate the abuse just for a little company.

…That, and he only had one healing potion left; he needed it for when he managed to find the real Garrett Hawke. He could deal with a tiny bit of sapping, but a head-on fight might force his hand.

“You need me,” the demon chuckled, echoing his thoughts. “How long has it been, Inquisitor, a week? You left me here for two _years._”

Max stumbled, and went down.

The demon came at him with its otherworldly speed, and just like that, Max’s plans fell to pieces. He downed the healing potion and killed the worst best friend he’d ever had in a somewhat messy fight.

Breathing heavily when it was over, Max leaned against what wasn’t a rock and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

The demon was right. He was out of resources. He was going to fail.

“Inquisitor.”

Max’s head snapped up, his hand darting to his sword.

“There will be no need for that.”

Eyes wide, his face was bathed in the white glow emanating from the hovering form in front of him.

“A…spirit?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“You may know me as mercy,” the being said. “I know why you are here. I tried to reach you sooner. You have come a long way, but your destination nears.”

“I hope you don’t mean my final destination,” Max joked weakly.

The spirit didn’t exactly seem to have a sense of humor; it turned from him.

“Follow.”

Feeling as though he were a moth circling a flame, Max obliged.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compassion: Sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.
> 
> Hawke certainly has always been in need of some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still getting there!
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read along! <3
> 
> This one is short -

“I’ve been here before,” Max said.

“Yes,” agreed Mercy. “I am taking you to where you faced the Nightmare.”

Max’s heart gave a skip, but so far, the Fade had been vacant of the smooth, insidious voice of the demon.

“You are searching for someone,” Mercy continued. “I am taking you to his resting place.”

Max’s eyes snapped to the back of Mercy’s glowing form, a sharp wave of grief and guilt lambasting him.

“His resting place?” Max felt stricken.

“Come. He has defeated the demon that has held dominion over so many in this piece of the Fade. There are those of us who are grateful. Compassion took him. Mortals are not meant to reside for so long in this realm. It destroys you, with time.”

Feeling sick, Max tried to brace himself for what he might find at the end of their walk.

_Isn’t it better to know?_ He would at least be able to give Varric closure. Eternal doubt was its own torment.

“Do bodies decay here, as they do in our world? Are the skeletons we’ve come across projections of the Fade, or is this place a sort of reality after all?”

“What is reality?” Mercy questioned. “We are here. Take your friend and return him home. Compassion will release him.”

Max’s eyes trailed behind Mercy as the spirit turned to face him, the impression of a somber smile flickering over the being’s form.

His eyes were stuck though on the man suspended behind the spirit.

“Hawke!”

Floating in midair, the Champion was lit seemingly from the inside, his skin glowing white, his orifices lit like stars set into his skin. Max looked desperately to Mercy, but the spirit was gone.

Hawke remained in stasis. Max spun, his eyes flicking everywhere for something that could help him; another spirit, a clue, _anything,_ and his gaze landed on something large and mouldering that he’d previously taken for more rock. A nearly formless mass was spread over the ground like moss, grey mist rising from the jagged edges of its surface.

_The Nightmare._

It was dead.

…Max thought.

Hawke had won, in the end.

Yet, there was still a pervasive uneasiness to the air, like the Fade was holding its proverbial breath.

“Maker’s balls,” Max cursed, his stomach sinking.

He turned back to Hawke.

_How am I going to get him down one-handed?_ Yet something else he hadn’t properly thought through.

Several large boulders were stacked at the Champion’s feet.

“You did it,” Max said, looking up at him. “You killed the Nightmare singlehandedly.”

It seemed as though Hawke had been preserved by the spirits of the Fade as thanks for his heroism.

Max had to take a minute to gather himself, his throat tight with emotion.

_There will be time to grieve later._

Hawke had died a true Champion of Thedas; indeed, it seemed he was a Champion of the Fade itself. He deserved to be brought back home.

With a quiet sigh, Max scrambled up the first boulder.

#

“Have you told me of…what was it you said?...‘Sparkler?’” Fenris was eyeing Varric dubiously, echoing his question of a moment before. “Aha. This is one of your daft nicknames.”

“Hey!” Varric protested good-naturedly. “My nicknames have staying power. They’re descriptive, they’re catchy, and they annoy people.”

Fenris snorted.

“So why do you say _this_ nickname as though you’re afraid of what I might do?”

“The nickname’s fine,” Varric sighed. “I just know you have grudges. Very reasonable grudges, but in this case…”

The tavern door pushed open with perfect timing, letting in a blast of chilly air.

“Speak of the devil,” Varric muttered.

“And I know what you’re going to say.” Dorian was gesturing animatedly to Bull, who had one hand at the small of the mage’s back protectively. It was sweet. “You’re going to say, what, that’s impossible. You can’t have no bloody clue how to open a stable rift without summoning a demon, you’re far too handsome to have shortcomings, and you’re Dorian Pavus. If anyone can figure this out, it would be…_vishante kaffas!”_

Dorian’s eyes landed on Varric and Fenris, and his usually swarthy skin paled.

Bull looked from Dorian, to Varric, and then to Fenris a half-second later. Fenris, for his part, had half-risen from his seat. His face was a thundercloud, but surprisingly, his brands hadn’t ignited.

“On second thought, let’s take a private meal in your room,” Dorian said breezily, turning on his heel. “We can eat off of each other’s skin. It will be decadent fun.”

“That,” Varric groaned, “Is Sparkler. And I like the guy, so maybe hold off on killing him for me, Broody.”

“Hawke told me there was an Altus working for the Inquisition,” Fenris snarled. He raised his voice. “Altus Pavus.”

“Here we go.” Varric covered his face in his hands briefly, then carefully rose to put himself between Fenris and Dorian’s overexposed body.

“You make me sound like my father,” Dorian said primly.

“You know this guy?” Bull had also put himself between Dorian and Fenris.

“By reputation. The ‘lyrium ghost’, if I am not mistaken. A hero to many and a cautionary tale to others. An example of the Tevinter depravity you southerners always accuse me of. A reason why I get the side-eye, even though the magister who made him is the tarnished example of the very worst of the lot. You did Tevinter a favor when you killed Magister Danarius.”

Fenris was nearly vibrating with confused energy. Varric watched the strange play of emotions dance in shifting patterns across his face.

“Stay away from my vicinity,” Fenris snarled at last.

“Only too glad to. Shall we?” Despite the glib tone, Dorian seemed more uncomfortable than Varric had ever seen him. He swept out of the room, Bull in tow.

Fenris was still scowling, but he nodded once to himself, a private gesture that Varric couldn’t interpret.

Slowly, activity in the tavern resumed, and Varric sat back down. Fenris did as well, eventually.

“The mage who wants to reform Tevinter,” Fenris scoffed, and drank the entire bottle of wine in front of him in one long pull.

“You could win contests with a skill like that,” Varric commented mildly, relief coursing through him.

“Indeed.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone returns and Varric ponders his regrets.

It was the third week since the Inquisitor’s disappearance, and while Max had pulled off many miracles, Varric couldn’t help but wonder if he was finally being proven right in the worst way with regard to his longevity.

_Heroes die at the end._

He’d warned Max from the beginning.

It seemed as though heroes would always be heroes, no matter how hard Varric tried to stop them.

_Who would Max have been? If he hadn’t been made Inquisitor?_

Maybe one of the faceless dead on the battlefields the Inquisition had left across Thedas.

It wasn’t a happier thought.

The mood at Skyhold was growing markedly grimmer, the longer the Inquisitor was absent. Even Sera’s pranks had begun to taper off. Side comments about what they were going to do about the organization as a whole were dropped into casual conversation. The body needed a head if the Inquisition was to continue, and everyone was afraid that Max was gone for good.

Varric, for his part, could barely get out of bed in the morning. He’d received a very snide condolence letter from Bianca, probably just to prove she had eyes on him, although she also offered a comforting embrace if he ever ‘returned to his senses’.

Varric threw the damned letter in the fire.

Varric also spent more time crying behind the closed door of his chamber than he had since Hawke had thrown his life away. That was the worst part of it, Varric thought; they’d both had a choice. Both Hawke and Max didn’t _need_ to make the choices they had. They didn’t _need_ to always do the right thing.

And if they hadn’t?

Stroud would be dead instead.

Having his blood on his hands would have eaten Hawke away from the inside.

And if Max hadn’t gone after Hawke?

That was the kicker. They didn’t know if Hawke was even still alive, suffering alone in a no-man’s land, or if he had already died years ago. They didn’t _know_ if Max had thrown his life away for nothing.

Fenris was, unexpectedly, staying around at Skyhold. Varric had the distinct impression that he was being looked after; less than by a mother hen than a sheepdog, keeping him on track from the sidelines. Varric didn’t have it in him to complain; he was self-aware enough to know when he could really use a friend.

_Maker knew he didn’t have many of those left._

How many more people could he lose?

…That was a dumb question, he reflected, considering the company he kept. He was drawn to people who tended to throw themselves at danger the way Dorian couldn’t keep his fingers off books that smelled like a magister’s armpit.

Still, there was a chance that Max could pull off another miracle. Three weeks wasn’t a lifetime.

It just felt like one.

_Maker’s breath,_ Varric thought. All the times Max had teasingly asked him for a nickname, and Varric had been too chickenshit to go for it, kept eating away at his chest.

_What a waste._

#

Max’s breath was raspy and cacophonous in his ears by the time he reached the top boulder. His face reached Hawke’s shoulder. He looked up at the Champion’s glowing face with reverent sadness and regret.

“It should have been me,” he murmured. “You saved us, Hawke. It wasn’t in vain.”

Hawke was within arm’s reach. He was perfectly preserved, which Max could only assume meant he had the same muscle mass that he’d had when he’d been alive as well.

“Now if only Mercy had taken pity on me and offered to carry you,” Max muttered.

It was difficult to see Hawke so still. The man had radiated energy when he’d been alive; the world faded around him. He’d been a hero, to the world and to Max. Now…

_Later._

He’d just have to manage. Leaving Hawke’s body in the Fade was not an option.

Max reached upward, and just as he was about to get his arm around Hawke’s waist, Hawke dropped like an anchor.

“Shit!”

Max stared in horror, but Hawke’s body never hit the ground. He was lowered like a feather, and slowly, the white glow separated itself from his form.

Hawke staggered as the white light coalesced into the form of a spirit in front of him.

_Compassion, Mercy had said,_ Max realized with baited breath.

Suddenly, Hawke lunged with an ear-splitting roar. He would have run the spirit through had the spirit not disappeared, reappearing heart-stoppingly at Max’s side on the boulder.

“What?” Hawke’s voice was raw and broken. The man was looking about himself unsteadily.

Max stared at him in shock for a few long moments, trying to believe what he was seeing.

“…Champion?”

Hawke spun, staggered, and regained his balance before his gaze found Max’s.

“Inquisitor?” His gaze darkened and turned feral. “No. You’re a trick. A demon.”

_That should have been his line,_ Max reflected wryly.

“No trick, no demon,” Max said quickly.

“That’s what a demon would say,” Hawke growled.

“He would have run me through,” Max realized, turning toward the spirit at his side questioningly. “He attacked when he woke.”

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed. “He remembers fighting the nightmare. He does not remember his sleep.”

“The boulders were to get me to safety.”

“Yes.”

Max’s heart was racing.

“Champion,” he called again. “I can’t prove it to you. But I swear I’m real. Corypheus has been defeated. You’ve killed the Nightmare.”

“Lies!” Hawke shouted.

“You were preserved after you cut down the Nightmare,” the spirit said serenely.

“Who the hell are you?” Hawke demanded, turning slightly away from Max.

Hawke looked terrible; his clothes were shredded, he was coated in dried blood, his face was gaunt, and even though it was angry, Max could recognize the fear beneath it.

“I am Compassion,” the spirit said.

Max cleared his throat.

“Hawke, it’s been two years. You saved us. The world is saved.”

_Temporarily,_ Max added silently.

“And I’ve come back to get you.”

Hawke laughed, and it was an awful sound.

“Alone? Like they’d let the Inquisitor come waltzing back into the Fade after me. You’ll have to do better than that, demon. The Inquisitor wasn’t stupid. Come down here so we can get this over with.”

“Apparently I’m more stupid than you’ve given me credit for,” Max rejoined. “But I am flattered. I didn’t know you had a decent opinion of me.”

Hawke was eying him like a wolf sizing up its prey.

Max held up his arm, a metal prosthetic where the anchor once was.

“Ever seen a demon with a weapon? Or half an arm?”

“Clever ruse to make up for not having the Inquisitor’s glowy mark.”

“I am not a demon,” Compassion interjected. “Champion, the Nightmare showed you many lies. Your fear is understood. I release you now to your own plane. You cannot survive here much longer, even with my help.”

“Varric’s waiting for you, Hawke,” Max said. “Don’t make me go back empty-handed.”

“Did you just make a hand pun in the middle of _this_?” Hawke managed to sound both appalled and impressed.

“We all have our flaws,” Max said tiredly.

Hawke’s eyes flicked between him and Compassion, then back to where the Nightmare lay, smoking and decaying, before looking back up to meet Max’s gaze.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long,” Max said, unable to keep his guilt chambered any longer. “I owed it to you to come much sooner. So much has happened.”

“You seem to have misplaced three-quarters of your arm,” Hawke said. “And you’re bleeding. In several places.”

“Yes,” Max agreed mildly. “Demons.”

At last, Hawke lowered his weapon. “You’re stupider than I gave you credit for, you’re right. What will Varric do without either of us?”

“It will be better than he’s done without you,” Max said. “And if you come back, he won’t need to do without for much longer.”

“Come down from there.”

“Are you going to try and kill me?”

Hawke laughed, and it turned into a coughing fit. “You’re like a cat, Inquisitor. Seriously, you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

Relief flooded Max.

“Maker’s breath, I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“Seem to be.” Hawke turned toward Compassion as Max began to pick his way down off the rocks. “It seems like I should thank you, spirit.”

Compassion touched its chest, and disappeared.

“You never answered my question,” Max pointed out as he hopped down off of the last boulder. “About the killing?”

“No, Inquisitor,” Hawke said dryly. “Not going to try and kill you after you’ve come here to rescue me.” He paused. “Not even if you make more puns.”


	7. Bonus Screenshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is not a chapter, but a self-indulgent photo dump because I just finished playing Inquisition and took all the screenshots of Max and Varric that I could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the smallest ship - Male Trevelyan x Varric Tethras (Vinqy). I just needed to take a moment and gush, because there is so much in the game to support this ship.
> 
> \- Varric tells Inqy about the real Bianca
> 
> \- Varric actually talks to Inqy about his personal life and feelings
> 
> \- Varric asks Inqy about his feelings
> 
> \- Varric is super protective of Inqy from day 1, saying there’s a ton of heroes, and they usually die at the end, so Inqy should ‘run while he can’ [sic] 
> 
> \- Right off the bat, Varric says: “Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right?”
> 
> \- When you’re friends and go to speak with him, Varric asks Inqy if he’s just “there to admire the dwarf” (which sounds like flirting to me!)
> 
> \- Hawke (if you let him leave the Fade) asks Inqy to look after Varric for him, which sounds like a bff to a lover statement
> 
> \- After the game of Wicked Grace, Varric shows he cares about Inqy as a person, saying “I’m glad you decided to join us tonight. It’s too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor”
> 
> \- Dorian bets against Inqy in party banter, and Varric’s always on Inqy’s side
> 
> \- Post-game, Varric gives Inqy the key to Kirkwall and makes him Comte (not going through any proper protocol to boot!)
> 
> Anyway, both of these characters are amazing, and I love their relationship in game and the potential for shipping them.
> 
> Thanks for reading along!

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9 Bonus Varric:

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	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian is The Good Tevinter, and Hawke does an oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dagnabbit, now my chapters no longer match up because of the photo dump.

“Hey, Sparkler.”

Varric rapped on the bookcase as he approached Dorian, who was nestled into an armchair in an ungodly amount of blankets.

“Varric. Thank you for asking your handsome and angry friend not to kill me the other day. It’s nice to know that someone around this place would be sad if I died.”

“What, is Bull chopped nug?”

Dorian waved a hand. “He doesn’t count. He has a standing personal investment.”

“Standing, huh?”

“Standing upright, yes. Firm as a flagpole and twice as big.”

“All right, all right, mercy,” Varric laughed. “I just came by to see how you were doing. You seemed unsettled that night in the tavern with Fenris, and I haven’t gotten a chance to catch up with you since.”

“Oh, that.”

Dorian put a bookmark in the giant, dusty tome in his lap and closed the cover.

“Well. Look at it this way. Say you’re a dashing young man from an oppressive society. You’ve managed to both escape said prison and carve out a decent reputation for yourself nonetheless. You’ve even managed to shed a few of the more unsavory ideals that you had brought with you. Despite everything, you’ve been gone so long that you’ve managed to convince yourself that your country is, at its heart, beautiful and salvageable. Then, one day, one of the legends of your homeland just-poof-appears in the middle of your new home. And even though you’ve been feeling quite good about yourself and have begun to be optimistically thinking about changing the hearts and minds of your countrymen, this legend that has shown up is a walking reminder that those ideals you once held were in fact not a benign fact of life but rather a horrific shitshow for some. And most of us overlooked it because of convenience, and because we tell ourselves that the abuses were an exception, not a rule. Except now that dashing and handsome young man I mentioned is wondering just how very far his head is stuck up his ass.” Dorian paused, presumably for breath. “How am I supposed to change a country that allows a man to be infused with raw lyrium? He was not a well-kept secret. Even the magisters who disapproved were still impressed.”

“Look, Sparkler,” Varric sighed. “No one said it was going to be easy. In fact, you’ve given yourself something that sounds damned near impossible to accomplish.”

“Good pep talk, Varric.”

“I’m not done.” Varric levelled him with a serious gaze. “You have done a lot of impossible things, Dorian. Changing your own attitudes was one of them. You’ve also travelled through time, walked physically in the Fade, and survived both of those things. And you’re fucking Bull regularly and you still seem like you’re able to sit down.”

Dorian huffed out a surprised laugh. His face, though, was vulnerable.

“Thank you, Varric.”

“You’re not like them, Sparkler, but you can’t be the only one. And you’ve changed for the better, like you’ve said.”

“Maxwell had that effect on people.”

“He’s not dead yet,” Varric said. “Don’t talk about him in the past tense.”

“Of course. You know, I’ve had about enough of this musty reading for the time being, it’s making my eyes itchy and I can’t walk around Skyhold with bloodshot eyes, Maker knows. Have any stories you feel like sharing with me today? I could use a good tale.”

Varric knew what he was up to, it was artless as far as attempts at distraction went. He allowed it anyway.

Settling down in the armchair across from Dorian, he leaned forward.

“All right. Have I told you about the seamstress in Kirkwall’s lowtown, the Templar who’d jailed her brother, and the itching powder…?”

#

“Easy does it,” Max said, reaching down to help Hawke scale the last stretch of rubble.

The rift they’d spotted a while back fluctuated at the top of the mound.

Hawke made it to the top, panting beside Max. They both looked to the Fade, then to the rift.

“All right,” Max said. “Let’s go. You first.”

“Last chance,” Hawke said, his gaze unreadable.

“For what?” Max frowned, his breathing labored.

“To reveal yourself, if you’re a demon. Or a spirit, considering you’ve been so helpful.”

Max looked up at Hawke in consternation. “I’m neither.”

“Look, you could have been honest, but that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Hawke sighed heavily. “Thank you for getting me here. You can’t come through with me, though. You need to stay where you belong.”

“What-?”

Max hardly saw the fist coming.

The punch knocked him backward into a painful, tumbling fall over the scattering debris, and finally into darkness.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one of our heroes returns to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! Posted early because I met my kudos milestone :) Thank you to everyone for reading along.
> 
> Also...I am so siiick. Holy nugs.

“So, Nightingale, what’s this about?”

Varric frowned cautiously at Leliana, who was leading him down the sunny, crumbling hallway that led to Skyhold’s war room. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had turned it into a murder dungeon in the Inquisitor’s absence. He might have been more concerned, except Fenris was following them as well, silent and wary; Varric could feel his gaze boring into their backs. It was strangely comforting considering Leliana’s current dodginess.

“I am in need of your advice,” Leliana said, sounding alarmingly cheerful. “I thought it best we meet in privacy.”

_Ruffles saw us,_ Varric told himself consolingly. _She wouldn’t let Nightingale murder us._

…Except of course that Josephine was both Leliana’s friend and a damned good bard. She’d probably help Leliana hide their bodies.

_…Shit. _

“Why these riddles?” Fenris said, and Maker bless him, he managed to make his concern sound like a threat.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Nightingale chirped ominously, and opened the heavy wooden doors to the war room.

Varric stopped so suddenly that Fenris plowed into him with a curse. His gauntlets dug into Varric’s shoulders as he steadied himself.

Varric felt like he’d been punched.

Leliana was practically bouncing on her feet.

Fenris sounded as though he couldn’t catch his breath. It was a terrible sound, but Varric couldn’t help him.

“So? May I have your opinion?” Leliana beamed at them. “Is this, in fact, Garrett Hawke?”

“You bastard,” Varric said, tiredly. It was all he could come up with, because all the emotions bubbling up were too intense for one dwarf to handle.

Garrett Hawke. He was thinner, there were more lines on his face and shadows in his eyes, but the smirk was there beneath the scruffy beard and he’d painted his nose, just like he always had.

_Maker’s breath._ The Inquisitor had been successful.

“Good to see you too, Varric,” Hawke said. The smirk turned into a weary smile.

Varric’s eyes stung with tears.

“Yeah, it’s him, Nightingale,” Varric said thickly, and had to turn for a moment to wipe off his eyes so he wouldn’t completely embarrass himself. “You idiot, Hawke.”

Fenris’s breathing was turning quicker and raspier.

_Oh, shit._ Broody.

Varric half-turned; Fenris had his fists clenched. His chest was heaving too quickly and his eyes were wide and panicked.

“Garrett?” Fenris’s voice broke on the word.

“It’s really me, love,” Hawke said, as gently as if he were speaking to a spooked animal.

Varric cleared his throat gruffly. He could see Fenris trembling out of the corner of his eye.

“So you truly confirm that this is the Champion?” Leliana said.

Varric scowled. “Yes, unbelievably. Who else would it be?”

“He came back from Adamant with heavy traces of the Fade on him. Dagna and our mages have studied him, but the confirmation is relieving.”

“You were afraid he was a demon or wha-whoa, now, Broody! Down boy!”

Fenris suddenly phased across the room; before Varric could even tell what was happening he plunged his hand into Hawke’s chest.

“Stand down!” Leliana cried.

“Broody!” Varric squawked. “Fenris, we just got him back!”

“It’s me, Fen, it’s me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Hawke reached up and cupped Fenris’s cheek.

Varric thought he might have a heart attack right then and there. At last, Fenris stumbled back a step and braced himself on the war table, knocking markers over.

“It…it is him.” Fenris sounded stunned.

“Do I wanna know how you know that by putting your hand through his chest, Broody? This something you two did often?”

Fenris was devolving again into ragged gasping, however, and Hawke looked as though he wasn’t faring much better.

“You owe me a hug,” Varric warned Hawke.

“Several, and a tale that’ll sell some books,” Hawke promised him, but his eyes were on Fenris and his hand was raised, hovering as though he wanted to touch him.

“Come on, Nightingale,” Varric said. “Let’s give them a…wait a damned minute. You said you came through the Fade at Adamant? Why hasn’t the Inquisitor told you this is Hawke? Why did you need us? Where is he?”

Hawke looked shifty, and very, very guilty.

“The…Inquisitor,” he began, then licked his lips.

Fenris’s back was still heaving, his head bent and his fists gripping the side of the table. Hawke threaded his fingers through Fenris’s hair and began to gently massage his head. Varric’s chest twisted to see Fenris allowing it in front of them.

“Where is he, Hawke?” Varric’s blood started turning to ice.

“Look, Varric. I’d been frozen by some spirit for a year or two there. I didn’t know he was real when he found me.”

“So he found you? The Inquisitor? Please don’t tell me you killed Max, buddy.”

Hawke held up his hands in supplication.

“He left him in the Fade,” Leliana spoke up unexpectedly, her face pulled into a deep frown. “I had wanted to tell you more gently, Varric. No one else yet knows.”

“_How?_ Max wouldn’t just…the Inquisitor, he wouldn’t just let you waltz right out of there without him!”

“I…gave him a good, solid punch and ran,” Hawke said, shame dripping from his voice. “I thought he was a demon. He’d helped me, so I didn’t try to…kill him, I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right, Varric. I feel horrible about it.”

“This wasn’t supposed to be a trade!” Varric felt hysterical.

“Come.” Leliana’s voice held steel. “The Champion has been through his own ordeal, Varric. Let us take this into the hallway and give them some peace. You may talk later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric muttered dully.

“I killed it,” Hawke sounded desperate. “The Fear demon. He won’t have to face that…thing in there. He’ll just need to find a way out.”

“Good job,” Varric said. “Miracles happen. We’ll talk later, Hawke.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching, and followed Leliana out, shutting the thick doors behind them with a final sounding thud. He leaned against the stone wall and dragged his hand over his face.

“Well…shit.”

#

The thing about the Inquisition was that it had Nevarrans, Fereldens, Dalish, Qunari, Free Marchers, Orlesians, Antivans, and even their smattering of members from Tevinter. It was inevitable that if you stuck around long enough, you’d pick up a few words here and there of everyone’s native tongue.

…and with the situations one often found oneself in as a member of the Inquisition, the most-used words were often filthy.

Max, when he woke in the Fade at last, alone and with the green glow of the rift no longer on his face, cursed up a colorful multilingual storm.

_Hawke had better have made it back to Skyhold in one piece._

Because Max was going to have Words with him, too.

He rubbed his jaw, and groaned. He was lucky the Champion hadn’t broken it. As it was, his head felt like someone was driving a nail straight through his temple in pulses.

“The Veil is unstable.”

Max’s head snapped up. His surroundings spun, for a moment, until he focused on a too-bright glow. Compassion was, remarkably, still there. The spirit was projecting a barrier of white light around them.

“You’ve kept me safe,” he said, awestruck.

The spirit inclined its head.

Max heaved himself to his feet. It was a wonder he hadn’t skewered himself on his prosthetic or his sword.

“The Veil is unstable,” Compassion repeated. “You must follow me, or be trapped, mortal.”

“Coming,” Max said quickly, and followed gingerly as Compassion began to lead him back through the Fade.


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skyhold mourns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading along! Your comments and kudos are appreciated <3

Max grunted, the blow from the demon knocking him back a pace and straining an older injury. He braced himself, and when he glanced down, red stained his side.

_Wasn’t that just great._

“I cannot help…or you would have to fight me too,” Compassion informed Max in its musical, genderless, expressionless voice. “It would change my nature to do so.”

“Yes, well,” Max said, shoving the horror he was fighting back from him and blocking the attack from the next fear demon to his right. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Compassion hovered unpassionately up the path from him, and Max wondered if it would actually just stand there and witness his death.

Knowing Cole, it might help his death along, if he were in enough pain, Max realized.

“I would care,” Compassion said, apparently reading his thoughts. “For you deserve better for being kind to the mortal you released. I would help to end your suffering.”

_Got it right._

Max cried out as he was hit by a blast of icy demonic magic; it slowed his movements. He struggled to fend off the attacks from the other demons, downed the horror, eliminated the fear demon, and got stabbed immediately by the second for his troubles. He screamed in pain and heaved himself into a least-ditch effort to save his life.

The demons, at last, went down.

Shaking, Max managed to sheathe his sword on his back, blood drenching his clothes.

“It is not far,” Compassion said. “Do not worry. You have done your best.”

Grief curdled in Max’s belly.

“It hasn’t been enough,” he panted. “I can’t fight.”

The spirit turned a corner. Max struggled to his feet. It was hard to reach the wound, which was on the same side as his hand. He couldn’t apply enough pressure to staunch the bleeding.

_He was going to die alone and forgotten, just like the demons said. _

He stumbled after Compassion, and as he went around the next outcropping of rocks, the glow of a Fade rift bathed his face in welcome green light.

#

“Well, shit.”

Bull echoed Varric’s earlier statement, his great horned head cradled in his hands.

It was a testament to how much everyone had had to drink that night; Bull had started off the evening crowing about Max’s achievements and talking about strong warrior’s deaths.

Cassandra was miserably drunk in the corner of the tavern; Sera was throwing knives at something that was definitely not a dartboard on the wall; Cole was pressing himself into Varric’s side like the world’s gangliest cat; Leliana and Cullen were sitting silent and stone-faced together at the bar; Blackwall was hugging a sobbing Josephine stoically, though the warrior’s eyes were red-rimmed above his dark beard; and Dorian, sitting beside Bull, had a thin-lipped, angry expression that made Varric concerned he was about to start dabbling in time magic again.

Hawke was sitting beside Varric with Fenris next to him. Fenris was working on his second full bottle of wine, presumably so he wouldn’t kill Sparkler. Hawke, for his part, had that same hang-dog, ill expression of guilt he’d worn since he’d returned.

Hawke, though, was the best consolation prize Varric could have asked for in the event of the Inquisitor’s loss. It had been a solid two months at that point since Hawke’s unbelievable appearance. It was hard to mourn the Inquisitor fully when miracles kept happening, but they couldn’t just keep wandering around directionless and hoping, either.

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Hawke mourned beside him. His features hadn’t yet lost the faintly stricken sheen he’d returned with. He looked worse, surrounded by Max’s grieving friends.

The door opened, and Varric raised his eyebrows to see Vivienne, looking supremely uncomfortable as she surveyed the crowded tavern.

“Come sit next to me so you look like you belong with these heathens,” Dorian drawled.

A flash of gratitude crossed Vivienne’s face.

“Not just here to suck up to whoever takes over next?” Varric grumbled. “Did you even care about the Inquisitor?”

“That would be very advantageous, would it not?” Vivienne deflected.

Varric shook his head, and turned back to Hawke.

“Stop apologizing. You were out of your mind. We’ve been over this. You keep torturing yourself, and you’re just going to run back into the Fade after him. Then he’ll come back and do the same damned thing like two idiot dogs chasing their tails. You’ll spend your lives running in Fade circles like some symbolic eternal punishment. It won’t even make an interesting book.”

“No, he will not,” Fenris growled.

“Why don’t we go back, though?” Hawke pressed. “We’ve been in the Fade before all of this.”

“Because surviving a fatal situation twice doesn’t mean I think we should tempt Fate a third time. We just got you back. Don’t make me go through that again.”

“So, how did it happen?” Hawke frowned at Varric, but it was contemplative and curious.

“How did what happen, Hawke? You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Varric drained his beer. Another took its place.

“He’s asking about something you yearn for but never happened,” Cole spoke up, startling Varric; he’d almost forgotten he was there. “Eyes like a kaleidoscope, security, expecting the whole to be lost but only losing part of him, maybe all heroes don’t die…but now he’s lost, and you wonder. He wondered, too.”

Varric felt the color drain from his face.

“You must be joking, darling.” Vivienne was watching them avidly, her voice scandalized.

“Yes, you of all people have no idea what unconventional love looks like,” Dorian snapped. Bull shifted, Varric noticed, his hand going to Dorian’s back. “Oh, wait, what’s that? An old man on a deathbed, with no political advantage?”

Vivienne waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I hate to admit to being wrong, and I rarely have to, but darling, you truly never told him?”

“Shit, Varric,” Hawke muttered. “Sorry.”

“I thought he’d rejected you,” Vivienne mused.

“Drunk you is a pain in the ass,” Varric choked, glowering at Hawke. “Iron Lady, maybe you should keep those eyes to yourself up in that balcony.”

“What else are balconies for?” Vivienne said breezily.

“Come on, Varric,” Bull snorted. “Who here doesn’t know you’ve had a thing for the boss since day one?”

“Wait…what?” Cassandra pulled herself upright in the corner, her face flushed and her eyes red-rimmed. She slammed her fist on the table. “You were…you _loved_ the Inquisitor? And never told him? Varric! That is like those…horrible plots you put in those books of yours! You should know better! Why not say? Now he is lost.”

“Will everyone stop saying that!” Varric scowled.

“You have lost your chance for…”

“He’s not gone yet!” Varric protested. “This is just a…this gathering isn’t a funeral, people.”

Leliana slipped out of her chair and got an arm around Cassandra’s middle. She gave the table at large a meaningful, threatening glance. “Come, Cassandra. Let us go somewhere quieter.”

Varric felt as though his face were on fire.

“Maybe it’d make you feel better if you say it out loud at least once,” Bull prompted. “Can’t be good for a guy, bottling all that up.”

“Oh, just say it in public? That’s supposed to make me feel better? This stuff is private, Tiny.”

“Hey. We all miss him. We all love him.” Bull was stroking the back of Dorian’s neck. Dorian had his eyes slightly closed, his mouth pulled downward.

“You should admit it, dwarf,” Fenris slurred suddenly. “Or it will fester.”

“Oh? Did it help you, Hawke, when you told Broody here you were besotted and then he took his damned time sorting out his shit?” Varric dragged his hand over his face.

_Well, that was as good as a confession._

Shit.

“That hurt, Varric,” Hawke said mildly.

Varric sighed heavily, and got up.

_I am a fucking coward,_ he thought.

He scraped his chair back on the floor, finished off his beer, and slammed it down on the table.

“You can all sod off.”

He waved away the various expressions of concern.

“And keep your noses out of my business,” he added for good measure.

He turned to march himself back to wallow alone in his rooms, and ran straight into Leliana, who’d apparently returned with Cassandra swaying behind her.

_And this is how I die,_ Varric had a moment to think.

Leliana hadn’t seemed to notice her person being assaulted. She waved a tattered piece of parchment in her hand. “Everyone, listen! We have news! ‘Antiva much warmer than expected. Less green now. Bird of prey should be free now. Looking forward to the sky myself. Soon.’”

“Maxwell is alive!” Cassandra shouted.

“That,” Varric groaned, stunned. “Was almost as bad as his puns.”


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! I reached my goal so you get a bonus chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this! This chapter was a long time coming.

The Inquisitor arrived at Skyhold with a guardedness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before he left.

Varric figured he shouldn’t be surprised any longer by the miracles that Maxwell Trevelyan accomplished, and yet, there he’d been days before, watching with the same awe as everyone else as the Inquisitor was shepherded through Skyhold’s gates by Leliana and Cassandra, Cullen walking nearby like the fiercest guard dog.

Now, he was watching as the Inquisitor paused before opening doorways, flinched away from friendly pats, and definitely avoided Varric entirely. It left Varric wondering if someone well-intentioned had butted their nose in where it didn’t belong and told the Inquisitor about his little crush, or, worse, if Max was furious with him still for the small fight they’d had before he’d gone and run off to the Fade.

Varric couldn’t manage to corner him to find out.

A few more days of that treatment, and Varric was ready to tear his own hair out.

Then, just as he’d resolved to confront Max about it, consequences be damned, a scout told him the Inquisitor had left Skyhold already on a mission, taking Dorian, Bull, and Sera with him.

Varric got comfortable in his quarters after that, doing some avoidance of his own with his brandy.

#

“Varric, watch out-” Max had to turn away from Varric before he saw whether his warning helped, blocking the attack of a despair demon just in time.

“You forgot to include Varric, Inquisitor,” Dorian called tersely.

“Demons and shit!” Sera helpfully reminded him.

Max cursed and spun to run through the desire demon who had, for a moment, fucked with his eyes. _Not Varric, then. _ A demon. Varric was back at Skyhold.

_At least the others can’t see what you do._ At least the visions he kept seeing of Varric remained private.

“Told you this wasn’t a good idea, Boss,” Bull said. He was fending off the pride demon who’d just joined the party. “Too soon.”

Max shook his head, both to clear his mind and as an answer for Bull.

“Wanted to make sure this rift got closed,” he panted. “Couldn’t do it on the way back.”

“Why’s that again?” Bull asked. “You’ve been cagey about this.”

Max gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure _why_ Bull wanted him to lay out exactly how he’d been in bad shape when he’d returned, but he just wouldn’t leave it alone. 

“We’ll talk about this later, Bull. Take care of that demon, we need to seal this.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Dorian said, throwing a barrier over them. “Are you hallucinating a hand as well as a well-built dwarf?”

Max scowled.

It felt as though they could all read his memories of what had happened in the Fade.

Sure, it was just a comment here or there, maybe it was just the usual amount of banter, but it seemed to Max as though they were pressing him on Varric and he couldn’t tell why.

He still remembered in vivid detail what it had felt like to have the false Varric on his lap, grinding down on him, and the dark, possessive look in his eyes.

_And it had been a demon._ Never Varric. Everything was a lie.

“Boss. Dorian has a point.”

Max charged the pride demon, and he and Bull finally got it down.

“We’ll send mages to clean this up,” Max said, as the rift entered the strange stasis they always did when enough demons had been killed to make them dormant.

Bull clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I think you should take it easy, Boss.” Bull’s voice was gentle, despite the sting of his words. “Stay at Skyhold for a while.”

“Useful’s all well and good unless useful means dead,” Sera pointed out. “Dead can’t have cookies, can they?”

She looked and sounded upset enough that it drained the fight out of him.

_What was wrong with him?_

“Come, come, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, with brittle lightness. “I happen to have brought several bottles of a good vintage along. Let’s get back to camp, open those up, and get you caught up on all the gossip you missed while you were running around after Hawke’s well-toned ass, yes?”

_If Solas has his way,_ Max thought, with one last look at the rift, _that green glow will be everywhere. Demons will be everywhere. Are they infinite? Or can we kill enough through these rifts that when the time comes, we’ll have a chance?_

“Sounds good, Dorian,” Max said.

#

“Max.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose as the Inquisitor reached for his blasted _sword._ He stood stock-still and watched the realization cross the Inquisitor’s face, chased quickly by guilt and a darkness that clouded anything else Varric might have read on his features.

The Inquisitor lowered his hand, rubbing it on his pants as if to get rid of some invisible dirt.

“Please…don’t call me that, Varric,” the Inquisitor said, quietly.

That was like a knife to the heart, Varric considered. His eyebrows dropped into a glower.

“All right,” he said.

“How can I help you?” The Inquisitor asked.

A lot of the things Varric had wanted to say had just flown out the window. He’d opened with a nickname, hoping he could segue into a discussion with some actual, rare (for him) honesty.

That apparently was off the table.

He cleared his throat.

“Just…wanted you to know,” he said, cautiously. “Before you left. I’d told you about those assassins, remember? The ones from Bianca's family.”

“Yes, and you told me not to ask about them,” the Inquisitor said neutrally. There was a pleasant, dishonest smile on his mouth that Varric hated with his entire being.

“I’m sorry about that,” Varric said. “I’ve thought about it the whole time you’ve been gone. Inquisitor, I lashed out. It wasn’t right. I wanted to say that.”

The expression faltered on the Inquisitor’s face, enough for Varric to see a flash of something painful in his eyes.

The Inquisitor blinked, and it was gone.

“Thank you, Varric. Was that all?”

“No. Those assassins. You don’t have to worry about them anymore. I was able to sort it out.”

“Always good to have a few less assassins after me,” the Inquisitor said with a sideways smile.

“They were after you because I’d called it off with Bianca,” Varric said, hating himself for saying it and also for not saying it sooner.

Shock, then, on the Inquisitor’s features, followed by confusion.

“You…” He wet his lips. “And she blames me. I suppose the Inquisition has been a distraction in her mind, is that it?”

And there was Varric’s easy out.

_Damn himself for taking it._

“Yeah. Something like that, Inquisitor,” Varric said.

There was a pause, then, that stretched on for too long. Neither of them moved. Varric didn’t like that he couldn’t tell what it meant, and he hated that he couldn’t read the expression in the Inquisitor’s eyes even more.

“So, the ‘Max’ thing,” Varric said, awkwardly. “You’d wanted a nickname. Something against that one?”

He hadn’t expected the question to make the Inquisitor look frightened. He smiled awfully through it, making Varric wince.

“It’s just my name,” the Inquisitor said.

“Back to ‘Inquisitorialness’ then, I take it?”

A genuine smile replaced the thing that had come before it. Varric smiled back, feeling some of the tension between them give.

“I’m never saying so again, but it is endearing,” the Inquisitor said. “I suppose I’ve changed my mind. ‘Max’ is fine, Varric. I’d like that.”

“‘Max’ it is, then, your Inquisitorialness.”

Max laughed.

It was a beautiful sound. Varric had thought he’d never have the chance to hear it again. It was enough to make him look up at Max with too much warmth in his eyes.

“I’ll speak with you later, then, Varric.”

“Later, Max.”

As Max walked away, Varric felt lighter than he had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a few more chapters to go!


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke is a Good Bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I've recruited a few of you to the Max Trevelyan / Varric ship <3 
> 
> Happy Holidays!

“Inquisitor. Have a minute?”

Hawke was striding toward him; Max cursed inwardly, because he’d been doing his damnedest to avoid the Champion. It was going to be awkward apology after awkward dismissal and he just didn’t have the energy.

He held up his hand.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Max said firmly. “You were confused. You’d been in the Fade for far too long, and you were only there to save our lives to begin with.”

“Uh…” Confusion crossed Hawke’s face. “Well, that was a good guess, because I was going to apologize, but that’s not all of it.”

“Sorry for cutting you off, then,” Max said, warily. “How can I help you, Champion?”

Hawke ruffled his own hair. “Hawke’s fine, Inquisitor.”

“‘Max’ is fine, then, Hawke.”

Hawke chuckled. “All right…Max.” He said it like he was tasting a new food and wasn’t sure how he liked it. The look he shot Max was questioning. “First of all, thank you. That should have been said sooner.”

“You were getting used to be being back in the world. Don’t worry about it. You were only there on Inquisition business to begin with.”

“As you’ve said,” Hawke said. “But you know I wanted to help, and why. You could have left me there, and no one would have blamed you. More people would have rather you hadn’t gone, in fact – that’s the word around this place.”

“I’m aware,” Max said, trying to keep the weariness from his tone. People couldn’t stop nagging him about it. He would have thought somewhere along the way the nagging would have been replaced with ‘Oh, good job, Inquisitor, you saved the Champion’s life’, but it hadn’t happened yet. “And your gratitude is accepted, Hawke, as long as you’ll accept mine in return. Along with a new title – ‘Champion of the Fade’. What do you think?”

Hawke laughed, disbelief on his face. “You’re joking.”

“I have to run around with ‘Herald of Andraste’, would you like to trade?”

Hawke was still shaking his head, mirth crinkling his eyes. “Have you told that to anyone else?”

“Quite a few people. You’re stuck with it, I’m afraid.”

Hawke cleared his throat. “Damn. Well, that was almost enough to derail this conversation, good job.”

Max’s stomach dipped with a brief flare of unexplainable anxiety.

“I did say ‘first of all’, implying there’s a ‘second of all’.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile he flashed Hawke.

“All right, out with it.”

“_Second of all_,” Hawke began, “I have it on good authority that you’ve been avoiding Varric. Why?”

Max blinked at him, then dropped his gaze.

That was the one thing he couldn’t talk about with Hawke, or anyone else.

“Who’s authority?” He asked. “I’ve been busy. I haven’t had time to spend with anyone. He knows where to find me if something comes up.”

“Varric’s.”

“Varric’s?”

That was enough to make Max meet Hawke’s gaze, which was disconcertingly knowing.

“Look…Max. I don’t know what’s going on on your end, but it’s something. Varric’s my family. He and Fen are who I have left.” Hawke’s gaze briefly unfocused, his mouth pulling down, before he met Max’s gaze again. “I would never have asked you to look out for him if I thought you _wouldn’t._”

“I have. I intend to.” Max meant that with every fiber of his being.

Hawke looked him over again with that piercing gaze he had. It was always shrewder than his friendly, scruffy face belied.

“Fenris figured it out, by the way. You were in the Fade by yourself just as long as I was, before Compassion put me to sleep.”

Max winced. “I didn’t have the Nightmare to contend with.”

“And be grateful for that,” Hawke said mildly, with a shadow in his gaze. “But I’m sure there were demons enough hounding you anyway.”

Max sighed, adjusting the sleeve over his missing arm and looking away. “If you’re trying to ask if demons are why I’m avoiding Varric, the answer is yes.”

He looked back at Hawke to see the man blinking in surprise.

“That…that was easier than I thought it would be.”

Max shrugged with what he hoped was a pleasant-enough smile; he must have missed the mark because Hawke cringed.

“We’d be here all day if I tried to be cagey.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Hawke frowned at him. “All right.” He held up his hands, then dropped them. “Look. Something to think about. Something Fen noticed, actually. Varric calls him ‘Broody’, right? But I’m ‘Hawke’. His brother was always just ‘Bartrand’. And Bianca – Fen doesn’t know about her, but he still picked this up. Apparently Varric’s called you ‘Max’ once or twice in front of Fen.”

Max frowned. “When?”

“While you were gone.” Hawke tapped the stone wall. “Varric has a nickname for everyone, except for a few of us. Maybe you should give that some thought.”

Hawke gave him a polite nod, then started to walk away from him.

“Don’t hurt him, Max. I’ll be around if you want to talk.”


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max (sort of) takes Hawke's advice and thinks about his feelings at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition probably has a pretty hefty wager on Max and Varric at this point, but they're probably also drinking themselves into the floor. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_Hawke. Bianca. Bartrand._

_Broody. Ruffles. Sparkler._

_…Max._

It seemed obvious, what Hawke had been implying in his earlier conversation with Max. It also seemed…really unlikely.

_But Varric had broken up with Bianca, who had then sent assassins after Max._

Max paced around his room. It felt too big, but it was comforting nonetheless in its familiarity.

The Fade lingered at the corners of his mind, making him doubt his eyes and his intuition. He had just been…so _bloody_ happy, that time with the desire demon in the Fade. It was galling, that demons sometimes knew people better than they knew themselves. Yes, he found Varric attractive, because you’d have to be blind not to. Yes, he enjoyed Varric’s company, but who didn’t? He was friendly, pleasant, knowledgeable, kind, funny…

Max winced at himself. He walked to his balcony and leaned on the railing, the cold stone grounding him beneath his palm as he looked out at the sweeping, snow-capped mountains.

He’d kept his distance, because of Bianca, and because of his own guilt over what he’d asked Hawke to do. But Hawke was back now, Max had paid penance, and Hawke himself was asking him to talk to Varric. Varric had sought him out, just to…call him Max, after so many moments of polite distance.

Varric was…a rock, amidst a sea of overwhelming chaos. He’d been there for Max from day one.

_What if he was still in the Fade?_

No.

_No._

That way lay madness.

_“Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, how are you holding up?”_

_“Here to admire the dwarf?”_

_“I’m glad you decided to join us tonight. It’s too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor.”_

_“It’s over with Bianca.”_

_Maker’s breath._

He’d faced down dragons with more grace than he was handling his own emotions.

_Just how much of a coward was he?_

What was the Fade, except a gift that showed them all what lay in their hearts, for good or ill? Why not take his experience and realized that what he saw there were his own regrets, more than any trick or illusion?

What was the worst that could happen?

_He could make things awkward between them._ He could distance himself from the one person that made him feel like a man rather than the idol he was meant to be.

_Things were already awkward between them, if not only Hawke but also Fenris noticed he was avoiding Varric. He’d only been summarily introduced to Fenris. Varric himself had noticed._

Max rubbed at his chest, then his face.

_If only he could figure out how to say, _‘Varric, I nearly fucked a demon who looked like you’ _with any amount of tact._

#

“Varric, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, Max.” Varric looked up with a smile, but Max didn’t miss the strangely poignant expression that flitted across his features. “Good to see you. Guess you’ve been busy, haven’t seen you around.”

Max sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly.

“I’m…sorry, Varric. I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Uh…wow. Usually people don’t just say that, you know. They usually come up with a lie so you at least know they care enough to pretend they aren’t purposefully hurting your feelings by avoiding your company.”

Max winced. Varric crossed his arms and looked him over with a frown.

Max tried a smile. “You should know me well enough by now to know I don’t have that much tact.”

“I know you well enough to know you could weasel your way through Halamshiral when you really wanted to,” Varric said, his face unimpressed.

“That was…”

_Not me. Lord Trevelyan. The Inquisitor._

“…that was different, Varric. If you’re busy, another time, then.” Max felt his emotions begin to wall off, and figured that was for the best. He’d tried. He wasn’t a complete coward. He gave Varric a smile he hoped was innocuous enough and nodded at him politely.

He couldn’t help the way his fist clenched at his side as he left.

He hadn’t expected the wave of hopelessness to leave him so breathless.

#

“Do you try to be this obstinate, or does it just come naturally to you? Masochism must just…really get you off,” Dorian drawled, approaching Varric in the tavern with his usual saunter that made every buckle on his body flash in the firelight.

Varric waved a hand and buried his face back in his mug.

“It’s a natural talent, what can I say?” Varric said.

“A little birdie told me that our beloved Inquisitor _finally_ emerged from his room, headed straight toward you…and then, poof! After a two-second conversation, you managed to make him look like you’d kicked him in the balls.”

“Was this little birdie a bitch, by any chance?”

“I might have been speaking to one at the time, but no, I have eyes, thank you. I happened to be on Vivienne’s balcony and caught the whole fiasco for myself. It put me off my wine.”

Varric winced.

“Seriously, Varric. It pains me to do this, but you’re forcing me to be straightforward. _What is going through that strong-jawed skull of yours? _Are we all wrong? Do you _not_ want to bend Maxwell over the nearest coffee table?”

Varric choked on his drink, but at least the moment he spent spluttering helped him to gather his thoughts. _That mental image was going to be a hard one to expunge._

He set his mug down, carefully, resenting that Dorian looked more amused than concerned that he was choking to death.

“Listen up, Sparkler. I’m saying this once.”

“Yes?”

“It’s none of your damned business.”

“Varric.” Dorian’s face was despairing. His tone, shockingly, dropped into forthrightness. It was enough to give Varric pause. “Look. Far be it for me to be all…roses and poetry about the business of love, but anyone with sight can see the two of you are pining for one another. I’m saying this as a friend. And the way you’re dancing around one another makes me…hurt, to be honest. Help me to understand.”

Varric sighed.

“All right. You want to know the truth?” He looked around them to make sure no one else was within earshot. “Here’s the truth. He just left, Sparkler. He didn’t tell any of us. And he came back acting all weird. He’s been avoiding me. He runs hot and cold and I can’t do that again.”

“You’re talking about your lovely smith,” Dorian said.

“She’s not mine any more, but yeah.”

“Ah.”

“She kept me on a string for fifteen years, Sparkler. I want…more than that, this time. He’s too important. And more than that? There’s no way he wants me. There. How’s that for honesty.”

Varric drained his mug, and waved a server over for another.

Dorian was silent for a long, somber minute.

“Varric.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Varric put his face in his hands.

“I know.”

“There was only one bit of truth in that whole pile of trash.”

“I know.”

“And that was…only your perspective.” Dorian’s voice turned gentle, making Varric look up doubtfully. “I guarantee you, it isn’t the truth. Out of all of us, he seeks out your council. He’s taken you on nearly every mission he can, and how often does he stop by your little corner of the keep? Daily? More than? Hm? You were able to get him to join us for Wicked Grace on multiple occasions. If you’ll forgive the accidental pun, don’t sell yourself so short just because one lousy ex couldn’t see what you are worth.”

“That pun hurts, Sparkler.”

“Not as much as you will if you don’t get your head out of your ass and talk to him, Varric.”

“…noted.”

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lines of dialogue are from the game:
> 
> “Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, how are you holding up?”
> 
> “Here to admire the dwarf?”
> 
> “I’m glad you decided to join us tonight. It’s too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor.”


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole to the rescue with some insight! 
> 
> Varric finds his gumption; will Max finally let him in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my pacing went out the window. This chapter is about a literal fourth of the entire fic, so I hope that makes it worth all the agonizingly slow buildup. 
> 
> Please note, this chapter earns the fic its explicit rating. 
> 
> Thank you for reading along <3
> 
> Enjoy!

“Friendship has been…something else, and he lost part of himself, and he betrayed you but it wasn’t you at all. He keeps pushing but the door won’t open again. He trusts you. He thinks…things will change, if he pushes. You’re both afraid of the same thing, but you both want the same thing, too. You’re…choosing to hurt. I don’t understand.”

“Is that so, kid.” Varric looked up over the rim of his reading glasses to look Cole over. He tapped a finger on the letter he was writing−some inconsequential bit of business with the Merchant’s Guild.

_Was Cole ever wrong?_

It had been a day since Max had last tried to speak to him and since Dorian had laid into him about it. He’d been hoping to catch Max on his way through the hall, but either he’d had extraordinarily bad timing or Dorian was right about Max holing himself up in his room. He didn’t like that it was shaping up to be the latter. Max might be awkwardly aloof, but he was social, and it was worrisome that he hadn’t been making his daily rounds to his friends since he’d returned from the Fade.

“They looked like us, but weren’t,” Cole said. “They hurt him, and he hurt them, but it was mostly you.”

A troubled crease ruffled Varric’s brow.

“Why don’t you both…want what you want?”

“Sometimes what we want isn’t what’s best for us, kid. Sometimes we get what we want, and it’s good for a little while, but then it breaks. Then what we want goes and marries some jackass and gives red lyrium to the bad guys.”

“He would never do that!” Cole sounded appalled.

Varric’s mouth pulled sideways. He sighed heavily, rolled up his parchment, and set his quill down.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “You’re right.” He eyed Cole. “If you’re so sure about this, why hasn’t he…said anything? He flirts with everyone, kid. I’ve dropped hints about ‘admiring the dwarf’. He’s never done anything with it.”

“He thought…one person for one person,” Cole said. “Not everyone is like that, but he is. Then…the guilt was too much for him to see past.”

“Hawke.”

“Now…he’s afraid if he grips too tightly, it will shatter.”

“Pressure makes diamonds, kid,” Varric said at last, finally getting up from his seat, his chair scraping across the stone. “Remember that. And…thanks.”

“I helped?”

“You helped. Now, scram. We’ll talk later.”

#

Max startled at the knock on his door; it wasn’t unusual, by any means, but he’d been lost in thought and the sound echoed in his cavernous quarters. He left his ruminations by the balcony and gathered himself into a picture of normalcy before making the decent down the stairs.

“Who is it?”

“Just me, your Inquisitorialness.”

Max blinked, his hand halfway to the door.

_Varric. _

How could his voice simultaneously make him so happy and so afraid?

_Because he could still see him dying with his sword in his chest._

_Because he could still see the look of ecstasy on the demon’s face as he rutted on top of him._

_Because he wanted more from Varric than he should. _

Max’s fingers closed around the knob and he pulled it open with a vague smile. “Varric. Can I help you with something?”

Varric looked up at him, his face unsettlingly serious. His eyes searched Max’s, and Max felt his expression falter.

“We need to talk, Max. Can I come up?”

“What’s this about?”

“It’s nothing bad, don’t look like that. Come on. You know we haven’t gotten a minute to chat since you got back from the Fade.” Varric made a squinty-smile that told Max he wasn’t likely to get out of it.

“I…didn’t think you wanted to talk to me since I got back from the Fade,” Max admitted. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“See? Now that’s one of the things we have to talk about.”

Max gave a quiet, mirthless chuckle. “All right.” He turned and led the way back upstairs, his heartbeat quickening. He heard Varric shut the door and follow, his footsteps nearly silent on the stone with his rogue’s grace.

“You have a party up here?”

Max turned and raised his eyebrows, following Varric’s gaze to his bed with its rumpled sheets and empty decanter of brandy on the nightstand. He felt his cheeks heat.

“Are you really going to nag me about my nightcaps?” He asked peevishly.

Varric settled on his couch and patted the cushion beside him; Max hesitated, then sat beside him. It earned him a smile from Varric he couldn’t help but return.

“Now, now, don’t be like that, most of my friends are lushes,” Varric said mildly. “It’s just new for you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Yeah, you’re right. We haven’t shared a tent on and off for two years. Don’t mind me.”

“Touché,” Max said with a small laugh, but he sobered quickly enough, his eyes skittishly looking toward his room instead of Varric.

“Trouble sleeping?” Varric’s voice was gentle.

Max’s brows drew together when he looked back to meet Varric’s gaze. “Those aren’t…well, it will just seem worse to say those aren’t recent, won’t it? I was having some trouble when I first got back from the Fade, yes.”

“And now?”

“Look, Varric, I’m sorry I didn’t clean before you came up, but I wasn’t expecting company. You’d wanted to talk about something?”

“Now, now, no need to get defensive.” Varric frowned at him. “Max, you’ve been through some stuff. You haven’t talked to anyone about it, unless I’m wrong. I just want to know how you’re doing.”

Max flushed. “I’m sorry, Varric.”

The breeze through the giant doors that were open to his balconies was cold, but it helped center him. Sunlight shining through the stained glass shot beams through dustmotes in the air. Max sucked in a breath and blew it out.

“It’s okay, Max,” Varric said.

Max gave him a pained half-smile. “All right. No. I haven’t been sleeping well. I keep…I keep dreaming of my experience in the Fade. I’m actually jealous you don’t dream right now.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“You know how demons can be. I just had three weeks of them up my ass, that’s all. Varric, are you angry with me?”

“Yeah, I’m furious with you,” Varric said, his voice frank. Max’s stomach dropped like a rock. “But I’m so damned grateful, Max. You brought Hawke back. I thought it was impossible, but that’s on me. You keep doing impossible things. I don’t know why I was surprised.” He reached out and patted Max’s leg. “I’ll get over it. You made me worried.”

“You’re mad at me because…?”

“Because you scared me.” Varric’s eyes seemed concerned. “You shouldn’t have run off without telling us. You should have let us help you.”

“I would have gotten you killed. The Anchor did something to me.” Max’s words left him in a rush.

“It what?”

“I…it was part of me, Varric, and it…I have some control over the Fade still. I knew I’d be able to survive. You’d all just…end up like that idiot in the Emerald Graves, do you remember? That charred corpse who was so enamored with the rifts?”

“Yeah, who could forget old crusty.”

Max’s lips twitched.

“You still could have told us, Max.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Varric sighed.

“I am!” Max protested. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I made you worry. I just can’t be sorry I went. Hawke was still there, Varric, and he had been there for a long time. Has he been all right since getting to Skyhold?”

“Yeah, he’s been acclimating,” Varric said honestly. “He has his moments. Skittish. Sees things that aren’t there. Gets confused. It’s been getting better, though, and Broody’s got his back.”

“They really love each other,” Max said, unable to keep the wistfulness from his voice.

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. “It’s nauseating.” His smile gave him away. Max echoed it again.

Varric cleared his throat. “Look…Max.” His gaze dropped to his hands in his lap; his thumbs were circling one another. “This going to sound so arrogant that I’m embarrassed to even ask, but it’s been eating me up. Did you go because of what I said? When I blamed you? I shouldn’t have done that. Is this my fault?” He gestured to Max’s bed, and all of its evidence of his restless nights.

“I went because it was the right thing to do,” Max said. “It was the worst decision I ever had to make, leaving him there, but I chose Hawke because I thought he could survive it. I would have stayed if the Anchor on my hand hadn’t been needed. Seeing my choice kill you slowly inside was more than I could bear on top of my own guilty conscience, but that doesn’t make it your fault.”

Varric stared at him for a long moment, then finally sighed. “I don’t know why I pushed at you like I did. It wasn’t your fault to begin with. Even Broody doesn’t blame us for leaving Hawke there, you know that? Said Hawke ‘makes his own decisions’, and he’s right.”

“There’s probably enough blame to go around,” Max said mildly.

“Well, you got him back. You did it. But Andraste’s tits, Max, it was like a punch to the gut when you weren’t with him.”

“More of a punch to the face for me,” Max quipped.

Varric groaned. “Hawke’s an idiot.”

“Hawke was…traumatized, and confused,” Max said, sobering. Varric was looking strangely pale despite his gaze being intent on Max’s.

“I, uh. I meant that, though,” Varric said. “It’s been a nightmare without you here.”

Max wasn’t sure what to say to that; he’d tilted his head in confusion without even realizing he was doing it.

“I’ve been getting pep talks from everyone. Sparkler, Tiny, the kid…you name it.”

Max swallowed thickly. “What, are you the only one who missed me?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Varric’s tone was sharp. “It was killing everyone that you were gone. I just…wanted you to know. It hit me really hard, Max.”

Max felt like he was missing something. He eyed Varric. “It was important that we brought Hawke back. I thought that was especially important to you.”

“Not more important than you!” Varric scrubbed his face with his hand and muttered something Max didn’t catch.

Max’s heart was pounding in his ears. Max had thought it was a given that Hawke was the single most important person in Varric’s life, no matter his own feelings about Varric.

“Shit. Look, I’m really bad at this, all right? Good on paper, bad in person.”

Max’s lips twitched. “Did you want to go write me a letter?”

Varric chuckled. “Maybe. But look. I wanted Hawke back, but you’re important to me, too. It feels like you’ve just been…looking for ways to throw your life away.”

“I’ve always been like this.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Varric shook his head. “Or maybe since you lost your arm, you’ve been looking for ways to prove yourself. You don’t have to, Max. We all care about you. You’re enough as you are.”

That felt like a punch to his guts.

_Who had ever said that to him?_

Certainly not his family. Maybe everyone at Skyhold might say that, if they knew he needed to hear it, but he’d tried very hard to keep his insecurities from showing in his role as the Inquisitor.

He blinked rapidly, then looked out the window to ground himself, the light hitting his face. When he looked back, Varric’s eyes were soft on him, and his gaze was steady.

“We could probably argue ourselves into the ground about Hawke and what I did,” Max said cautiously.

“Probably,” Varric agreed.

“Do we have to?” He hated how small his voice sounded.

Varric’s lips pulled sideways. “I think you deserve a little of it. But I’m not the only one you’ll be getting it from, so no, not right now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Max blew out his breath, then cleared his throat. “So, you said the assassins have been taken care of? The ones Bianca sent?”

“Yep. All gone, for now. Who knows, though. The Davris are a crazy, possessive bunch, even with things they don’t want.”

“Just let me know if you have any problems I can help you with,” Max offered. He rubbed his hand on his thigh; it was oddly sweaty from nerves.

Varric was eyeing him inscrutably.

“You still think they were after you because they blamed the Inquisition?”

Max frowned. It was there again, that feeling like they were pushing at something other than what they were talking about.

Varric had one arm thrown over the back of the couch, and his thick, deft fingers were tapping absentmindedly on the frame. His eyes were crinkled above a half-smile, and it seemed pained as much as it seemed amused.

“You know,” Max said cautiously, “Hawke said something funny to me. About names. Why not call me…oh, I don’t know. ‘Pajamas’.”

“‘Pajamas’. That’s self-aware of you. Didn’t know you knew about the rumor about those clothes you wear. Don’t let it get to you, I like the clothes. They fit you well.”

Varric had a tinge of red in his cheeks; Max was sure he did, too. Max smiled anyway.

“Thanks, Varric. Or…I don’t know…what about ‘Handy’? Why ‘Max’?”

“You really want me to call you ‘Handy’, Max?” Varric snickered. “Andraste’s sweet tits, you’re bad at nicknames. Why don’t you tell me why it bugs you so much?”

“Well, it doesn’t anymore. I don’t think. Not after what Hawke said.”

“What’d Hawke say?” Varric looked wary.

“That you don’t give nicknames to your family, more or less. Hawke, your brother Bartrand…Bianca.”

“Don’t let that loveable, scruffy face fool you. He’s an observant son of a bitch.”

Max laughed in surprise, then searched Varric’s golden, shrewd eyes.

He sobered.

“Varric. Before we…talk more about this. I need to tell you something. About the Fade, and what I saw in there.”

“It’s just the Fade, Max. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

“No. I do. I…look, one of the first demons I saw in there…I’d…I don’t know, I was sleeping, or got knocked out…I can’t remember. But when I woke I saw you. I thought it was you. He−it−called me Max, before you ever did here in the real world.”

“Aw, shit.” Varric’s brows drew together. “That explains your reaction when I called you ‘Max’ that first time in the great hall. I thought you were going to chop my head off with that sword of yours.”

Varric reached out and put his hand on Max’s leg. Max’s face heated. He looked at Varric’s hand a moment, stunned, before accepting that it was really there. He curled his fingers over Varric’s.

“So…you, uh. The demons took my face, huh?” Varric wet his lips.

Max gave Varric a small smile.

“Definitely pride demons then,” Varric said, but he was grinning.

Max laughed. “You’re going to make me say this first, aren’t you.”

There was a small, warm knot of nervous hope growing in his chest.

“Take pity on me,” Varric said, his gaze softening. “The last love of my life married someone else.”

That blew the breath right out of Max. He felt a slow, wide, happy smile spread on his face.

“Varric,” Max started. He felt his throat close for a second with emotion. “Varric, you know damned well they were desire demons.”

“Oh? I thought maybe envy−”

“Varric.”

“So you’ve admired the dwarf all this time after all, huh?”

“_Varric.”_ Max laughed, and reached up to cup Varric’s cheek. He slid his hand to the back of his head and after a moment’s hesitation, pulled him forward into a kiss.

Varric sat forward to meet him, one hand coming up to tangle in Max’s hair. Max let out a surprised gasp as Varric pushed his tongue into his mouth and gave a hard shove on his shoulder. He fell backward onto the couch cushions with a laugh, Varric following him down and putting a knee between his legs. Max arched with another gasp as Varric pressed upward against him with his thigh.

His eyes were wide on Varric’s as they pulled away for air. Max was subconsciously moving against the leg Varric had pressed to his groin. 

Varric was stroked his face. “You want to do this now, Max?”

It was hard for Max to think through the haze of building arousal.

_They’d just be talking about…Hawke…and the Fade…and…Maker’s breath, he’d thought Varric had been angry with him. _He’d thought this was impossible. He’d been hiding and drinking away his guilt over what he’d done with the desire demon for nothing.

He bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt.

_Not the Fade, then._ Not a dream. He’d just wanted to make sure.

Varric’s expression was turning concerned. “You all right?”

“Yes.” Max was breathless. He was still gently rutting himself on Varric’s leg, but Varric was pushing back against Max so it seemed as though that was all right.

“Well? You want to do this now? We could have dinner first. I could take you on a date. Whatever you nobles do before they do this.” Varric smirked at him.

“Varric, to be very clear, yes, I want this. I love you. You’ve been here for me from the beginning, when I was just a terrified soldier who’d survived a tragedy. You’re intelligent, kind, capable, loyal, funny…and you’re just…”

Varric cut him off with another deep kiss, this time tugging on Max’s lower lip with his teeth. Max groaned.

“Later, Max,” Varric said. At least, Max thought with gratification, he sounded breathless too. There was a sudden breeze and Max realized Varric had worked his pants open without him realizing it.

“You naughty rogue−” He teased.

“Benefits,” Varric chuckled, and wrapped his hand around Max’s length.

Max arched and cried out as Varric began working his palm between them. Desire spread swiftly through him, warm and hazy, as the sound of slapping skin filled the room, echoing in the corners of the high ceilings above them.

“Maker’s balls.” Varric sounded reverent. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for long enough.”

Max looked up at him; Varric was haloed by the light from the windows, his ruddy coloring warm like a candle flame. His fingers on Max’s length were strong and sure, and Max was writhing mindlessly into his grip.

_Why had they waited?_

_This was real, wasn’t it?_

Varric wasn’t making demands of him, and he wasn’t asking for anything in return, though. Max’s chest swelled with fondness. His fingers dug into the couch cushions as a satisfying ache began to build in his groin. The couch creaked in protest beneath them.

_It was really Varric, looking at him like that._ He’d never seen anyone look at him with that much adoration before. He felt a similar expression on his own face.

Varric pulled away, abruptly, leaving Max bereft and panting.

“_Why?” _He whined.

“Bed, your Inquisitorialness.”

“Right…right. Yes, okay.”

Somehow they stumbled to the bed and undressed before falling on the mattress together in a tangle of limbs. Max managed to suck on Varric’s nipples and find oil in his dresser before Varric was pushing him backward again, his mouth a hot trail over his abdomen and chest and his hand pushing between his legs.

Max spread his knees and drew them up, arching.

“You are so hot, Max. Maker’s breath, look at you.”

“Ungh,” Max said.

Two of Varric’s fingers had found their way inside of him and were scissoring, hitting _something_ on every other pass that pushed a hot burst of pleasure through him. Soon he was writhing.

“You’re a vision, Max,” Varric said.

“You keep saying my name,” Max managed to get out.

“You seem to like it,” Varric grinned at him mischievously. He took Max’s thighs in his hands and sat up, and Max hooked his legs over his shoulders. “Just so we’re clear. I love you, Max. It’s not all the crazy things you’ve done. It’s that good heart of yours, that damned perseverance, just how much you care about the world and all of us.”

Max was pushing his hips, trying to encourage Varric to enter him.

“You a little more than everyone else, if I’m honest,” he panted. “Can we save this for later?”

Varric grinned again, and gave a series of small thrusts that seated his length deep inside Max. Max groaned with pleasure and stilled. Varric stroked his thighs as he waited for him to adjust, then began to rock steadily into him.

The first pain of being stretched gave way to pure desire. Max’s hand scrabbled against the covers.

“Good?”

“Yes, Varric,” he gasped.

They moved silently together, their eyes roaming over each other’s faces. The sun had begun to set outside, casting the rosy glow of a sunset across the room. The breeze from the open doors had become pleasant as sweat beaded on Max’s brow.

Max’s breathing rasped in his ears. Varric bent and kissed his torso, one disadvantage to the differences in their height although it still shot a jolt of pleasure through him as Varric laved his skin with his tongue. Max reached down and threaded his fingers into Varric’s hair and tugged. Varric gave him a long moan for his efforts and a deep thrust that made him arch with a cry.

“Fuck,” Max panted.

Varric smirked at him.

“Still good, your Inquisitorialness?”

Max groaned incoherently. He bent himself upward to kiss him before falling back down to the mattress.

Finally, Varric reached between them as Max began to tighten with impending release. Varric’s thrusts became deep and erratic, Max rocking himself mindlessly onto Varric’s length.

“Max,” Varric said, his voice cracking.

“I love you, Varric-”

Max grunted and cried out as pleasure, white-hot and intense, washed through him. Varric shouted a moment later as he released, warmth flooding Max as Varric gave a few more hard, thorough pushes and then finally went still, half-collapsing onto him. Max wrapped his arm around him and stroked his back lightly, his heart thudding.

“There we go,” Varric murmured, when they had both finally calmed. He pulled out gently and threw himself to the side, then gathered Max into his arms and pressed a kiss to his head. He rubbed a hand over Max’s half-arm, and to Max’s surprise Varric raised it and kissed the end before positioning it again between them.

Max smiled, and settled into his embrace.

_Had he ever been happier?_

“So,” he said, after a few minutes of listening to Varric’s quick heartbeat as it steadied. “To summarize, we’re both extremely bad at communication. But we love each other.”

“Yeah.” Varric’s laughter shook his head where it rested on his chest. “I do love you. For the record. And that sounds about right. No more running off, Max. Promise me.”

“What if I have to pee?”

Varric tickled his armpits, making him wheeze with laughter. “Not helping! All right, all right. I promise, Varric. I promise.”

Varric chuckled, and squeezed him. “Whatever comes, Max. Whatever remains for us to clean up. We’ll face it together.”

Max smiled, a happy excitement bubbling up. He pressed a kiss to Varric’s chest.

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“…even the sheets?”

Varric laughed. “Even the sheets.” He hugged Max tighter. “You giant dork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Varric: *saunters into Wicked Grace night late*  
Dorian: Oh, look who decided to join us tonight.  
Max: *comes in behind Varric, adjusts his collar*  
Cole: Do we notice? Notice what?  
Bull: Oh, yeah, boss. We definitely notice. Nice job, Varric.  
Dorian: Oh, yes. I see it now. That is definitely a hickey.  
Sera: Ew. But, yay. I guess.  
Cassandra: Varric! You told him! Inquisitor, I am so happy for you both. When is the wedding?  
Varric: The what now?  
Max: Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Or scare off my lover.  
Varric: Lover. You...in public. Right. We can do that. Yes.  
Max: Yes?  
Varric: Yes.  
Dorian: Do those hickeys go all the way down?  
Max: You'll have to win my shirt off me to find out.  
Bull: Good luck with that. He's fucking the dealer.  
Cullen: Maybe I'll just...sit this one out. *clears his throat* Congratulations.  
_


End file.
